"Merk, get in, we're goin to the races."
I'm not a big fan of races but I wasn't doing anything important and it looked like a fun bunch of jerks so I hopped in the back of the pick-up and laid real low to avoid being blown by the wind or spotted by the cops. It wasn't long before I drifted off to sleep and had a dream that Snoop Dog was driving. I woke up really quick, it wasn't him, just some redneck. Not even black.
I didn't recognize the area but it sure was beautiful, looked like a mix between northern cal, greece and mexico, big buildings all stacked along a jagged shoreline with soft blue light shining on all the brightly colored paint jobs which reflected off the water. How long had I been sleeping?
"Where are we you guys?" I asked.
"No idea, sure is pretty though huh?"
And it just kept getting more beautiful as we drove up through the red rock canyon. There were rock formations and plant life that I have never seen outside of television shows about coral reefs. Brightly colored animals and plants swaying in the wind as if underwater. Big red icicles that looked like jellyfish hung from the jagged red overhanging cliffs. It was if Willy Wonka, Dr. Seuss and the The Discovery Channel all got together and collaborated on this area.
When we finally got to the race track I was told we were being hosted by Darrell Waltrip which incidentally might be the only name I recognize from nascar. We got first class treatment wherever we went, which was somewhat funny because we looked like a bunch of homeless people after the long windy ride. We were ushered into a trailer filled with celebrities that you'd expect would have nothing to do with nascar. The list included Martha Stewart (who seems to be everywhere I go), Paul McCartney, Bootsy Collins, Carlos Santana, Lionel Richie and a bunch of black dudes from the 70s, I think they were with Bootsy.
"Martha, maybe you could stop sweeping for like ten seconds and enjoy yourself, you're making everyone uncomfortable." I teased.
"It's the perfect excuse to not have to talk to Paul McCartney merkley."
"Good point, can I use that dust buster?" I asked. "Katie tells me that you are collecting old mummified Mexican corpses from the Inca era?"
"She told you that? I told her not to tell anyone." She said as she pursed her lips.
"Yeah well I kinda tricked her, I told her I knew you were goth and that you and I talked about it all the time."
"Hey merk!" yelled Paul McCartney, "Says here you are gonna "merklefy Lil' P'boy Johnston. I thought you stopped doin music." He said as he handed me the lastest Rolling Stone.
I read the article. "Hmmn, I don't even know who Lil' P'boy Johnston is, and it doesn't say I'm doing anything with him, it just says he is gonna be merklefied. There is this group on the internet that copies everything I do, it's probably one of those people."
"So you have become a verb?" Laughed Bootsy Collins.
"Ew, apparently so, is that bad?"
Everyone got really quiet as if they had some really bad news. I turned on the dust buster to cover up the silence.
Later Carlos Santana kept offering to make me a burger on the BBQ but I could tell they were fake vegan burgers so I kept refusing. Plus I didn't wanna feel obligated to talk to him due to me really hating his music, fashion sense and politics... avoidsville for sure.
Everyone could see Martha's ass crack as she bent over to pick up the crumbs off the floor. It wasn't pretty.
We never did make it outside to watch the race. When Darrel Waltrip returned after we all pretended that we saw it all. Standard backstage behavior.
Good job Darrell.
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