TRADIN’ POST

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Rivets — get ‘em while they’re not hot! (That’s a rivet joke!) My name is Sam and I am shit-tired of putting pieces back on to Michael Waltrip’s car. I’m selling all my extra rivets — but I’m keeping my rivet gun. It’s an antique.

For Sale — glue — it’s lost its smell, so it’s no use to me, but it’s still glue. I’m glad to sell it to you or trade it for glue that’s still got smellum on it.

Wanted — we are plumb out of white paint. Please contact Darlington Raceway.

Driver available! My name is Tony Raines and I am a professional driver, currently unemployed. I’m ready, willing and able to drive your kids to school, take you to work, get you to prom and home again safely, or just drive you to your errands on the weekend. I’ve got trunk space, sort-of, but you will need to provide your own passenger seat.

I hardly never do the top button of my jeans no more, so y’all’s welcome to come with your best offer for it. It’s silver and shiny and it says “LEE” uppy-side down. Struck me the other day I oughta get something for it. Ask for Wanda.

I’m looking for a yield sign I can put at the entrance to Turn 3 at Darlington. It just needs to be big enough to catch Tony Stewart’s eye. Elliot S.

HITCHIN’ POST

Ladies Seeking Fellers

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To the handsome young man directing cars in the Richmond parking lot. I sure ’nuff got a direction for you, come on, closer, closer, closer…

A big thank you to the gentleman who helped pull me out of the portable toilet on Saturday afternoon. I maybe let myself go a little bit these last couple of years, but if I could get in there, you sure would think I’d be able to get back out. You were a real white knight for a whole lotta woman in distress.

To my boyfriend Donnie — I just want you to know I got home OK last night after walking home from the Talladega infield. It only took me three weeks, you jerk. I told you we should get more than one cell phone. I still love you.

Ladies Seeking Ladies

This ain’t a lady, but my name’s Rufus and I’d shore like to watch.

Fellers Seeking Ladies

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All you eligible man-hounds out there, I’m looking for someone to talk to, take walks with, meet your folks and — maybe in a few weeks if all goes well with the talking and walking — settle down and get married. Shoo-wee — just kidding! Got your hopes up though, didn’t I?

Missed Connection — you were selling those greasy, delicious turkey legs at Richmond. I ain’t never seen a woman handle meat on a bone like you can. I’d love to meet you. Bring the plastic gloves.

I ain’t seekin’ a lady for romantic reasons — I’m looking for the fat one that sat on my picnic chair and broke it. I don’t give a damn how tired you were from walking up to the track, you just don’t do that. You’d better steal me a new one.

Dear Delana Harvick — I had this crazy dream last night that I went over to your house in the middle of the day. I knocked on the door and you answered it in a blue string bikini. You told me, “Kevin’s out racin’. Come on in.” If you had the same dream, my name’s Billy, though I doubt you could forget that as many times as you screamed it out in your subconscious.