Time To Make The Donuts!

Picture this: it was a beautiful Sunday morning (technically).  I was trying to sleep in, but I heard some drag racing going on outside.  I don't mean "Johnny's got his old man's car for the night" drag racing, I mean "NHRA Top-Fuel Funny-Car Gatornationals" drag racing.  As this was a bit unsusal for 2 A.M. - I chalked it up to a crazy dream.  I have those when I make pecan-chocolate-bourbon pie.  I lied about the pecans and chocolate.  And the pie.

FYI, this is not a "whoopsie," this is what you call a donut.  Pretty impressive one too.  The true art of the donut is in the lack of caring and responsibility.  You have to commit, and really drop the hammer - no matter how much mud you sling or how close you get to hitting that (my) black SUV.  The rocket surgeon that created this work of art punched it so hard, he or she peppered the building across the street with little splotches of mud up to around the bottom of the 2nd story.

...and my car.

In all honesty, I've done this before.  In an open pasture, with the owners permission - it can be so much fun.  Doing it like this, so close to cars, houses, and people is reckless.  This jerk was really getting into it.  With that much momentum behind you, you can lose control in an instant.