Racing is everything
its funny
and rather ironic
I thought that when I won
the piston cup, that would be it. All racers are unfeeling
self-centered, spoilt pricks who only think about themselves. And
winning.
So I was confused by the capacity of negativity directed
towards me from my, once loyal, fans. The sea of glittering glares
from the stands. And all because of McQueen, helping the old man
cross the finishing line. I mean, yeah, so what? I could have done
that any day.
Except for the fact I wanted to win. And I never liked The King. Flaunting his shining rear in my face, race after race. I wanted to win. To have him look at my behind for once. But he wasn't worth it. And the one who is is out of my reach.
McQueen.
Lightning McQueen is not only my enemy. He is a tease. An out of bounds tease. Flaunting at me, every race. The little rookie! And Oh God I wanted that lithe red brat under me, tires screeching, moaning and writhing and…
Well. One could say I was lonely. And so was McQueen, even though he didn't notice it. He didn't have anyone close. It's no surprise to me that he cherishes his hillbilly friends so much.
I've always wanted to win. And I always convinced myself every race, that the winning was everything. McQueen was nothing.
Nothing at all.
But I was wrong.