Now, li'l pardners, I'm your instructor, Dale Sr., and I'm here to tell ya'all that actin' out this motto is 'specially 'ffective on the last lap of Winston Cup ra`ces, and we all know you want to be NASCAR drivers when you grow up, right? Heck-far, where else can ya play by yer own rules.

Now, jus' fer instance, lessay anur car Ê- let's say it's a red-n-yelluh un' with a big cereal-loving rooster painted on the side - flies up and passes you on the lass lap of a big race - lessay it's one at a haff-moll track in Tennessee, in a town that rhymes with pistol.

Lessay 'at car has cleared ya and is going through the last turn, 'bout to take the checkered flag and grab 'at big check and 'at glory that rightfully belongs to you becuz, heck-far, you wuz jus' in fust wal' ago. What do ya do class? All together now: "Jus' knock 'im the @#%$* outta the way!

I CAN'T HEAR YA!

"JUS' KNOCK 'IM THE @#%$* OUTTA THE WAY!"

Thass real darned good, li'l pardners. Keep it up and you'll get your Goodwrench Black Patch of Approval in no time.

Now, young-uns, here's anur important thing to remembe r: What ya learn here can also help ya in ev'rday life. Let's say they're having tater tots fer lunch at school on Wednesday, and that quick little guy's 'bout to beat you to the front of the line.

What's your next step, Theodore?

"Politely yield that spot to the quick kid, knowing that next time I might get there first?"

What the #@*% are you talkin' about, you little mowron! Go over in the corner and put on your DuPont Dunce Cap right now. Stand up, Billy Ray Joe Bob and tell him the right answer.

"You knock 'at little snotsucker right the @#%$* out of the way, just like I seen you do the o'er night, Dale! 'After all, em 'ere warmest tater tots is rightfully yours."

At's my boy, Billy Ray Joe Bob, fifth-grade class president six years running.

OK class, let's say that goot-lookin', purty-boy star, that one with all 'em purty cullars on his rainbow lunchbox, just drove around you on the playground and is 'bout to go up fer a wide-open laydown ... what? huh? ... oh yeah, layup, or whatever they call it in that sissy sport. Anyway, how do ya handle that situation, Stephen?

"Tell him nice move and try to work a little harder at keeping him from getting around you next time?"

Boy, I shouldn't even dignify that with a dad-blamed reesponz! Don't ya'all know you're talkin' to a guy who rubbed his own boy, Jun'r Dale, hard enough to spin 'im just so's I could win at 'er IROC race. Stephen, you turn in your official Intimidator Eye-Blindin' Mirror at the office, and take your panzy butt back to Jarrett's school. Now, Sally Sue Margie Jane, let's hear what's supposed to happen.

"Whaullle, Daullle, if that purty boy burns you at basketball and is about to go up fer a clean laydown, you jus' bang 'im in the backside - the pencil holder, as my pappy calls it - and plant his purfec kisser - the piehole, as my pappy calls it - right into the wall. Yessuh, ya jus' knock 'im the @#%$* outta the way , jus' the way you done it the other night, Daullle."

Atta gurl, Sally Sue Margie Jane! How old are you? 16, huh. You'll make it out of sixth grade this year and the minute ya get your license we're getting you a Busch ride.

Now, li'l pardners, remember that you can teach your mama and daddy these very same thangs I done been learnin' ya.

How 'bout if mama's in the vittle store buyin' up staples Ê- okra, Red Man, and extry-thick Charmin - and there's only one bag of sweet taters on the shelf, and somebody's 'bout to not get a pie that night. Lessay mama's got the shoppin' cart with that wobbly wheel and some young gal with a new cart and joggin' shoes on has the inside line for 'em sweet taters. What's mama 'posed to do, Alicia?

"Give a slightly dissatisfied sigh, but not rudely enough to let the young lady hear, and then move on to the rhubarb as a consolation prize, knowing fully well that rhubarb pie is pretty darned tasty itself?"

Dang it to %$*@ hell. This is one of the dumbest dad-gum classes I've ever had. My star pupils have to do all the good answerin'. Now tell her what's got to take place, Jessie Jo Roberta Bob.

"If that young gal with 'em shiny expansion pants on is about to beat you to your prize sweet taters, you got to take her out, ram her cart so hard that she's face down in her health salad, and 'em joggin' galoshes is hooked up inside 'at toddler seat." Whoo-wee, Jessie Jo Roberta Bob, I'd hate like heck to have you racin' behind me. You done been doin' yer homework.

OK now, lessay fer 'zample, yer daddy's followin' an ol' lady through the lot at Wal-Mart - on Saturday - and they're on the same row when one goldarn parkin' space opens up. What's daddy to do, Geoffrey?

"Pull up behind and give Grandma a bump just to kind of scare her, get her loose so perhaps she'll get shaky and have to give up her prime spot. But don't really hit her hard enough to wreck her and maybe injure her so badly she misses the next falling price?"

Well, Geoffro, you sorta been lisnin', ain't ya? That's the answer ya give the public so's they don't hate you too bad and stop buyin' 'em little cars and 'em t-shirts that done made ye richer'n a Carolina tobbacky baron.

And you give 'em race officials that same answer so's they don't take away your prize money and 'em points, even though you know they'd never get the guts to do 'at to the Goodwrench car anyway (they'd never invoke that LePage of the rule book, would they?).

But here's what you really do if somebody is better 'an you and takin' sumpin' away from you that you really want: Knock the holy @#%$* out of 'em and get 'em the @#%$* out of your way. Everbuddy got the picher? It's like 'is, 'Winner's win, no matter what it takes, and nice guys get spun right into the wall.'

Hey, li'l pardners, remember this, if you can't no longer intimidate 'em, jus' eliminate 'em.

Used by permisson