Nicki and I were on holiday in the land of Ben and Laura last year, when we stopped for lunch in West Virginia. Food was fantastic basic southern stuff, served with those large brown plastic glasses full of home-made ice tea. I can’t remember what we had, but it probably included bbq pork, corn and a sloppy joe (for Nicki’s edification).
Anyway, this particular restaurant was pretty much dedicated (all walls covered with tributes, number three on the front door where the “licensed to sell spirits” sign on a pub normally is) to Dale Earnhardt. None of us had ever heard of the man and just chalked it up as another “meeting Elvis” southern experience (I’ll tell you about the visit to the prison gift shop some other time).
Anyway, saw this on the illuminated donkey and it reminded me of Ben and Laura
The Father, the Son, the Holy Ghost, and the Intimidator. During my trip it gradually dawned on me that the near-ubiquitous #3, in commemoration of Dale Earnhardt, had almost entirely replaced the cross as the pendant of choice in the South. Now, in the long tradition of Virgin Mary sightings, an Earnhardt miracle has occurred.
(yes, allrightallright, I was vanity surfing