Friday, December 26, 2014

Happy Tidings...

The Wizard Tomaso and his two trusty lab assistants Mad Molly and thy Pixolator hard at work in Nofendersville. (The Tomaso Collection)
It's that time once again Y'all, to be merry, enjoy family, friends 'N acquaintances  near & abroad... As your hard workin' No Fenders scribe and his two ably bodied assistants wish Y'all  Happy Holidays!

As I'd planned upon posting a slew 'O stories right up 'til the very end of the year but Alas, I'm simply burned out (Due to the ENORMITY 'O STRAIN posting these riveting No Fenders tales 'O mine upon thy P.O.S. platform causes my faltering eyes!, neck & back) and just don't have the time or energy, mostly time to post the remaining grandiose No Fenders yarns... Especially with Holiday events taking precedence Ja Volt, since I should be on my way Up North Eh at any moment!

Hence, like that long defunct black 'n white paper magazine I once subscribed to yearly known as Ontrack, I'm taking a two weeks Winter's Slumber and will return on January 12, 2015.

And as always, Thanxs to all three  of my loyal readers; Hya! Err, a B-I-G' THANK YOU SHOUT OUT to everybody who reads or supports  No Fenders and see Y'all next year...

Salutations, Felice Navidad and Merry Kringle, Y'all!

Wednesday, December 24, 2014

Hey Santa, hows about something in Red!

Yeah, like dare I leave I-T sitting outside underneath thy Car-port next to the Yeahoo who parks his prized '87 black 5.0 Mustang cock-Oh-mamey, ergo sideways in order to not get to close to the supporting beams in the Oh, So tight parking space confines...


Merry Kringle - 2013 Edition...

Santa's alternative transportation. (Image source:

Twas the day before Christmas, when through all of the paddocks.
Not a motor was idling, not even a single Cosworth “Lump” could be heard.

The garages were swept and tidied with care,
In hopes that Roger Penske soon would be there;

The mechanics were nestled all snug in their beds.
While visions of Championship bonuses danced in their heads.
(Not to mention HULIO dreaming of what might have been, if only he hadn't crashed over that 'Yump in Houston)

And “Princess” in her negligee, (Or was that her Cowboy Hat 'N swim suit?) Along with Paul Tracy in his crash bucket, had just settled down for a quick tryst in the sack.
(Hey! I hear that Danica’s still available, right 'Ricky-boy? Likes Yuhs better not loose Danica's number...)

When out on the lawn there arose such a racket, ‘ol PT sprang from the bed to see what “TAG, Suitcase Servia, Whiney Bags and Bad Bobby D’ were groaning about.

Away to the window Tracy flew like a demon. Ran over the back markers and punted the Hamburgular clear outta the way.

The smoke from between Sea Bass’s ears. Glistened like a smoke signal, without a glow. When, what to PT’s wandering eyes should appear but a Ferrari ENZO followed by an armada of Prancing Horses in tow.

The ENZO was piloted by an ex-Formula 1 driver, still brutally quick.
That Tracy knew in an instant it must be Michael Schumacher.

More rapid than a grid full of Bridgestone alternate “soft rubber tyre’ Formula 1 chassis in “Qualie Two” light fuel tanks mode. The seven times World Champion whistled and jeered, and called them by name;

Now, Mika now, Coulthard! Now, Rubinoe and Ralfanso!
On, Heinz-Harald! On Villeneuve! On Damion and Irvine!

To the front of the grid! To the head of the pack.
Now burn rubber, burn rubber baby, burn rubber quick!

As tyre tracks that leave ominous black streaks behind. While Herr Schumacher leaves another competitor further behind!

So up to the roof-top the Prancing Horses flew. With trunk loads of presents and Schuey too. And then, came a banshee wail of the ENZO, high atop the roof.

The revving and idling of each assorted Ferrari. As PT rubbed his hands. Down the chimney Schuey forlornly came. He was dressed all in Scuderia Red, from his head to his foot.

And his Nomex driver’s suit was all tarnished with ashes and soot;
an assortment of winning trophies, he’d stuffed into his back pack.

His eyes -- how they twinkled! His rosy cheeks, how they glowed.
His hair as always was perfect, (by Loreal...) his jaw like a chisel! His lips clenched in a mischievous smirk. As the smile was reminiscent of a Cheshire cat;

The remains of a Cuban cigar hung limply from his teeth. As clouds of Smoke encircled his head like a wreath;

He had a taunt face and washboard abs. that still showed his youthful physique when he laughed at the dumbfounded PT. He was strong and fit as an ox, a festive and jolly elf; Thus Paul could only laugh when he appeared

A wink of his eye and a twist of his head. Soon gave TRACY nothing to fear. As Schuey spoke nary a word, but went straight to his work. Filling all of the stockings with various racing trinkets. (Such as the 2002 Borg Warner Cup, a new three year contract signed by P.L. Newman & Carl Haas along with some of the Hamburgular’s secret winning sauce…)

Before Messer Chrome Horn could wipe away his astonishment, the famous German turned Quickly, laying his finger aside of his nose. And giving a nod, up the chimney he rose;

He sprang to his idling ENZO, and to his waiting minions gave a whistle. And the screeching of tortured Ferrari lumps could be heard as they burst away like rocket ships! But ‘ol PT heard him exclaim, as he power-slided out of sight;

"Happy Holidays to all, and to all a good-night."

Merry Kringle Y'all!

(Originally written by Tomaso – December, 2007)