Our Daytona 500 correspondent Luke checks in once again, live from the track.
A white woman behind me is rocing a Tupac t-shirt. Seriously. I wanna bone.
The two best words to describe this experience are loud and cold. And my man Juan Pablos is in next to last place. Fuckin' Juan Pablo. Vamanos.
Here's how it works here. It's loud as fuck, and then you see cars drive by for 11 seconds, and then you watch the big screen. My dad told me to get earplugs, but the people here told me if I did, I was a pussy. Also, because of my Toyota hat, I'm "a fag."
Meanwhile, I had to leave my seat to go buy a sweatshirt. I stopped in the rest room, and there was a dude in there who wouldn't go in the trough because he didn't want other dudes looking at him. "There may be deviants in here," he says. There are, pal. I promise you.