Donald J. Pentecost III, Jr. wrote:Now look here, y'all little varmints. Gene Haas is a goddamn FAKE! Y'all know he ain't doin' this THE 'MURICAN WAY! Not drivin' his own car like a TRUE 'MURICAN like ME! Buyin' a factory in limey-land that belonged to some GODDAMN COMMIES IN ROOSKIE-LAND! I say we oughta take away his passp... posp... (Myrtle? What d'y'all call that little book what lets us leave our glorious country and lets us go an' laugh at those poor commies in Yurop...) passport! (Why y'all need one o' those is beyond me, I tell yuh.) Gene Haas y'all are a TRAITOR an' a COMMIE! Build y'all's factory in 'MURICA like a TRUE 'MURICAN! And build y'all's car outta 'MURICAN STEEL from... Pittsburgh? Goddamn northern unionists. And get y'allself a TRUE 'MURICAN ENGINE, the rootin'est, tootin'est pushrod V8 from DETROIT! Oh, wait, that's full o' unionists as well. Goddamn it. Hey, y'all, great idea! God damn it! Dear Lord, please can y'all send one o' those vole-canoes to Pittsburgh an' Detroit, like y'all did from Icy-land that made those commies in Yurop all cry like little girls an' have to stay in their own goddamn countries an' act like TRUE 'MURICANS. And y'all can use y'all's divine power to make them move their factories to somewhere TRULY 'MURICAN like, say, SCOTTSDALE, ARIZONA where we don't want no immuh-grints. Ayyyyyyyyyy-men. Yeeeeeeeeee-haaaaaaaaw! Let's see how y'all like THAT, Gene Haas! With THE LORD ON MUH SIDE I will BEAT YO' ASS and I, DON PENTECOST, WILL BE THE OLDEST CHAMPEEN EVER OF FORMULA ONE, A REGISTERED TRADEMARK OF THE FORMULA ONE CORPORATION OF 'MURICUH SPONSORED BY DON'S SCOTTSDALE MINISTRY, A REGISTERED TRADEMARK OF... UH... GOD! I will crush y'all, Gene Haas, I will crush all the other goddamn commie teams from Yurop, and I will open the biggest can o' whoopass on Formula One Rejects, a registered trademark o' the Formula One Rejects corporation o' Scotchland, or New Seal-land, or wherever those assholes come from that isn't 'Muricuh. God bless 'Muricuh, y'all! Ooooooooh saaaaaaay can you seeeeeeee, that the gun in muuuuuuuh haaaaaand...
And so on and so forth. Don ranted away to nobody in particular for over an hour about Gene Haas, about commies, about his One True Clean Energy Solution, about our strange corner of the internet, about the American Civil War and about how all unionists are wet lettuces, and a bit about commies again, plus a few unrepeatable slurs about Japan once he'd discovered what it was, where it was and what had happened to them in 1945. He was still looking for Australia on a map, convinced it was somewhere in commie-Nazi Yurop-land, when the nurses came to give him his medication and take him back to his cell, with all the heavily padded rubber wallpaper and a lock on the door so complex that Fort Knox have considered fitting it themselves.