| The Prisoner Letter
Dear John Boy & Billy:
As you can see, you've received another letter from one of your "captivated listeners." I wanted to write to let y'all know that not all prisoners are mean and dangerous -- some are merely stupid. After reading this you'll probably want to call Jimmy Spencer to tell him to look for a new nickname, because you have found the REAL "Mr. Excitement."
My story begins on a beautiful July day in 1995. I decided it was too nice a day for work, yet too hot to fish, so I opted to relax in the air conditioning, watch some TV, and enjoy a few cold beers. Several hours and about a case of beer later, I decided it was critical that I replenish my beer supply, and I was not going to let such minor details as not having a car or drivers license deter me. Someone was nice enough to allow me to use their 1976 Dodge -- no tag, bald tires, and a 6-cylinder engine -- to make my beer run in.
Upon leaving the local convenience store, a police officer got behind me and hit the blue light. As you may know, large quantities of beer tend to raise the testosterone level while lowering the intelligence quotient in the typical male drinker. So I decided -- the race was on! How did this go, you ask? Well...not too good.
A 20-year-old Dodge with a 6-cylinder and bald tires is not the car of choice for this type of activity, but I figured what I lacked in horsepower I could make up for with my driving prowess (and besides, you've got to run with what you brung to the track). I jumped out to an early lead, but my competition quickly closed the gap. He attempted to pass me on the low side (he darn sure wasn't gonna go high). but I successfully blocked the pass, and he had to fall back in line as we approached the turn. I lost it about halfway through turn one, and put 'er into the wall (actually it was a ditch, but it worked just as well). And I'll tell ya -- Spencer couldn't have done it any better.
Ever the quick thinker, I decided this would be a good time for a footrace. How did this go, you ask? Well, not too good. Being the beautiful day it was, I was wearing flip-flops. Not the ideal footwear for a race, especially when the participant wearing the flip-flops is drunk. At the end of the footrace, I decided a wrestling match was in order. Unfortunately for me, the cavalry had arrived by this time, and they entered the match without being tagged. As you can probably tell from the enclosed mug shot, the wrestling match didn't turn out too good either. However, I did feel somewhat vindicated when I puked in the backseat of Dick Tracy's squad car. (I really did.)
Now, two years later, I'm about to finally make it home from my beer run. I have learned a few things:
a) Never drive anything with 6 cylinders and bald tires
You know the saying "Life is short, play hard?" Okay then.
Give my best to Jackie and Raiford, and tell Randy I hope he makes it back soon. [Note: at the time, Randy was home recovering from a recent jaw surgery]. Tell him I know how it is because I often missed a lot of work because I had lingerie in my mouth. Y'all keep em straight up thar -- Love ya, mean it.
Dale Darryl Waltrip Richard Petty Rusty Awesome Bill Irvan Gordon Earnhardt Smith Johnson Jr.
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