Nah Scar


Busch with his blushing punching bag. No wonder she's wearing those bruise-hiding shades. In Busch's defense though, she does bear a striking resemblance to Vikki LaMotta.

Busch with his blushing punching bag. No wonder she’s wearing those bruise-hiding shades. In Busch’s defense though, she does bear a striking resemblance to Vikki LaMotta.


While going completely unnoticed by people who don’t drink homemade moonshine, toothless hillbillies around the less literate parts of this country were weeping into their Duck Dynasty beards with the news that NASCAR driver Kurt “Drank Too Much” Busch has been suspended indefinitely for engaging in a favorite redneck hobby: spousal abuse.  Most of the Heavyweight Champion of the Trailer Park’s fans were in the midst of savagely beating their significant others at the time of the announcement, but upon learning about the appalling news, mullets throughout the Deep South were somberly flown at half-mast.  Disillusioned rubes across the cheerfully named Slave States have begun referring to the epic tragedy as “The Hillbilly 9/11.”

Predictably, the lazier of the national sports pundits immediately tried to draw comparisons between this Busch league shit and the NFL’s amusing plague of non-stop violent abuse, but there’s one major problem with such a knee-jerk assertion: the NFL is an actual sport while NASCAR is purely for bumpkin entertainment.  The only real connection between the two incidents is the overreaction by the easily overly horrified media.  Looks like ‘Ray Rice’s Greatest Hits Vol. I’ strikes again.

If that Zapruder film of an ass whupping was never released to the public—the way the NFL desperately wanted it by the way—then it would have been swept under the rug like every other such incident in the league’s glorious wife-beating history.  Instead, the tape went more viral than a kitten YouTube video, and has put the entire athletic community on notice that spousal abuse, aka Fifty Shades of Black and Blue, will no longer be tolerated.  When even track broads and racing rednecks are getting into trouble, then you know it’s serious.  It seems the good old days of lovingly closing your wife’s eye because the meatloaf’s a little cold have sadly come to an end.  What’s this godforsaken world coming to?

If you got rid of everybody that slapped their chick around, then you would eliminate about ninety percent of NASCAR drivers, let alone their jug-headed audience.  What’s next, no goddamn racism allowed either?  What kind of sinister plot to rid the planet of the stupidest non-sport ever invented is this?

The type of intellect that draws pleasure from the mindless activity of watching cars go around, and around, and around for three fuckin hours is truly not equipped to grasp such a sea change in society.  Luckily, if this pointless hick-fest pretending to be an actual sport instead of just a gas-guzzling hootenanny does indeed face long-overdue extinction, the braindead retards can just put a lawn chair by the freeway and see the exact same thing.

Because after all, if horse racing is the sport of kings, then NASCAR’s the sport of the king from Bravehart’s faggot-ass kid.


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