Nascar Driver

(This is a fictional poem) I'm a Nascar driver and I'm one of the best. I always win and the losers are depressed. I always come in first on racing day. The other racers eat dust as I blow them away. Last week a driver cussed me out because he came in last. He's jealous of my car because it's really fast. I challenged him to a fight but he won. He put bruises on all of my body parts, even on my balls and my buns. He was hitting, kicking, clawing and even biting. I'm excellent at racing cars but I suck ### at fighting.