Come on Irene, I Swear (Well He Means) At This Moment You Mean Everything

Ahhhhh, run, fuck, hide, shit, Irene's coming!!!  Hahahaha.  You know who isn't scared?  North Cacalaca, that's who.  You see Andrew Jackson blinking over there?  Fuck no.  One of North Carolina's all time badasses is probably going to watch this hurricane blow through while sitting on a pier, then torch a Seminole village in Florida on his way to stealing the other half of Mexico.  Do you think Dale Earnhardt is worried about this hurricane?  If Dale saw this Nancy pants hurricane riding his bumper he'd flash one quick glance of pure Moustache Intimidation in his rear view, and that would be the end of that.  I'm not from North Carolina.  I don't live in North Carolina.  But I have spent a fair amount of time there and I know a number of their citizens.  And this is what I can guarangoddamntee you: They aren't one bit scared of some pussy-assed hurricane.  The only concern this hurricane brings is the status of the car races on Sunday.  That is it.  Are they gonna fuckin' race on Sunday?  Listen, this isn't a bunch of transient, pansy Floridians boarding up their condos and running around in circles shitting their pants, not realizing that when you live on a giant schlong jutting out into two bodies of water, you might get fucked.  Hard.  North Carolinians are going to pick up their shit, put it back in their garage, pound a couple of nails, nail a Salem, flush it down with a Busch heavy, and move the fuck on.  You think Michael Jordan is cowering behind some plywood?  Hell no.  He uses hurricanes to get a cut-rate on a motel room to bang some hoochies.  Petey Pablo is going to twist a shirt around his head and spin it like a helicopter on the beach and just dare Irene to do something about it: This one's for North Carolina, C'mon and raise up.....