If Mike Shank hands me a Busch Light, I’m going to shove it where the light doesn’t shine.

The Tire Chicken just walks around with a tie rod in his egg chute.

My tubby brother might look like he will fight, but he will tuck tail faster than a Jersey BMW driver.

If you’re in the LBC, keep your nose out for fried Tire Chicken.

We all know that Penske geezer has a foot fetish, right?

Why else would he slap the tire ballon’s crap n this side of his clunkers.

He knows he tastes like grandma’s roasted chicken.

I think my brother should hire Townsend Bell so they can both whacks on then whacks off each other to supply the new tires for IMSA and WEC.

Then I can whack TB into the tire balloon in France.

Marie Antoinette would be proud!

Did Townsend Bell just say whacks off??

He was hanging out with my brother near the tire trailer at Sebring last weekend…

We love to use random French words for simple things.

We fancy as fuck.

Just don’t ask for any tires. My tubby brother scarfs them down faster than a fatty at a Krispy Kreme with the hot & ready sign turned on.

My tubby brother loves to silently stand behind others saying he’s number 1.

I will tell what is is number one: standing in the men’s room at Sebring looking down into a trough when some beer swilled tubby stumbling up beside you barely able to get his Vienna sausage out, belching, saying “sup”…

They had to fly in a back up tire chicken.

The wings yesterday were rubbery and ill-flavored.

The tire chicken nowhere to be seen.

Just had some wings.

Coincidence??

The tire chicken better keep his visor down. BBQ chicken is on the menu in the concession stands.

I bet that stupid Tire Chicken thinks it is safe in Texas where they only eat beef…

If you’ve been to Whataburger, you first question is “What the fuck am I eating??”

It ain’t beef, buddy…

Sticking around Phoenix to make sure all the box car drivers have a BadYear.

If Will Power had my tires, he would have just run over the shitty coffee car.

I left a few presents in the pits for the Tire Chicken.

Side note, I’m having a BBQ at my house after the race. Having roasted chicken.

Don’t you dare bring your boring potato salad!

Mine can go all day and more importantly, all night.

The tire chickens are on the track again.

You don’t see my brother’s fat ass there.

But I am.

You really think Dixon’s wheel came off by itself?

Ever wonder why the French tire company gives out stars to fancy chefs??

It’s because my brother is a fat ass and lives to eat. He’s also cheaper than a TikToker with 50 followers who thinks they are an influencer.

My perfect Super Bowl commercial would be my tubby brother laughing hysterically while turning a spit with the tire ballon feet being roasted over a blazing fire. I’m sitting in the background sipping a fine whiskey ready kick my brother into the pit.

FYI:

The tire balloon has a bathroom.

Those feet finding fools are literally dumping shit on you during the races.

My pudgy brother only dumps in the car, like a normal racer.

You’ve been warned.

That’s not fog hovering over Daytona.

It’s the exhaust from all the vape pens being carted around by the influx of yuppies.

My tubby brother loves the spotlight.

Meanwhile, I’m in the shadows making sure one of the P2 cars bins it in turn 1 lap 1 of a 24 hour race.

Mission accomplished.

My brother doesn’t know how to read. He just sits there holding a book hoping to absorb by osmosis.

I told him he could start an OnlyTires page, but no one wants to see the Tire Chicken without their feathers.

I walk around shoving key lime pie into crew members’ faces.

I tell them it’s key lime pie…

I just passed a frumpy link.

My brother was bitten by a radioactive spider.

Instead of getting some cool superpowers, he just sits in the corner spraying race car tires with his new “webbing”.

Those new tires coming to IMSA and WEC are really my idea.

It happened after I watched Spiderman was spraying his webs on this woman’s boobs in a back alley in Queens.

Maybe it was some guy and a woman fucking on their car hood…

I was drunk. It was dark.

Anyway, webbed tires. You’re welcome.