This is what it looks like when the grown-ups are in charge.

Which is what we are only starting to become used to. We've had some fine examples of what not to do in the recent past just like everywheres else - but when we need to control a crowd in the hope nobody else needs to die today, the Governor asking nice beats the crap out of tear gas and flash grenades.

To start with "Motorway" is a road in England. Equating a local short track with a megatrack like Sears Point is equating the auxiliary Little League field with Giants Stadium.

Oh - if motorsports is

auto racing is f*cking bullsh*t, in every possible regard

, I've got a little homework for you, unless you're the usual steaming pantload of hypocrite:

1) Kick all the rearview mirrors off/out of your car. Ray Harroun used one to win the 1st Indy 500.

2) Jacknife all the seatbelts out of your car. Adapted from aircraft and popularized by John Fitch, noted racer in the '50's

3) Get rid of your modern, low profile tires - invented by pioneering racer Mickey Thompson

4) Replace your fuel injection with an updraft carburetor

5) Torch the side impact beams out of your doors - Popularized by Richard Petty, still called "Petty Bars" in the NASCAR gararge.

When you're done with that, call me. There's a lot more, and your bicycle does'nt get a pass, either.

Maybe the same rules can be a guide...
F'r instance, suppose you're livin' side by each, down from the Foreclosure Cancelled by Board of Health Trailer Court, and you got a neighbor problem. Like a bunch of raggedy-ass kids ain't seen a square meal or a grown-up readin' for about 6 weeks too long. A yard full of busted 4-by's and mean-ass dogs behind a fallin' down fence, and a couple - 3 fools that spend any cash they can get on guns and ammo for "protection". And now they're tryin' to put up a friggin' gun tower, they'r all shitfaced, and you saw the kids stealin' bread out of your pig food - You want to tell 'em to toast it, but any help for the kids turns into beer, bullets, or dog food.

Now, your short, nervous, curious buddy has been throwin' rocks at the fence, 'cuz he's tryin to count the dogs. The cops have driven by a couple times, which evokes another round of target practice, fowllowed by surveillance in your'e general direction, through rifle scopes, 'cus they think you might be the "troublemaker". Old Henry Who Bought The Smith Place has just showed up in your driveway, and his wife has ordered him to "do something!". You tell him to keep Stubby from throwing more rocks, and to keep the wife from tying up the phone line to the cop shop.

On the whole, it's probably time to go to the hardware store, down next to the police station, and takl to an old cop about how to defuse the situation without settin' off the "Natty Light Rebellion". Maybe get their crazy Cousin Dennis to talk some sense into 'em - but, for crissakes, no tank assaults, cuz these fools' want to play with the artillery.