The Hare Licks His Wounds by Paul Juhasz

What no one understands, baby doll, is that I threw that first match. Do you really think I’d lose to a goddamn turtle? Fuck no, I threw that motherfucker! Why? Gotta generate interest. Build the excitement, baby. I mean, c’mon. Who was paying attention to that first race anyway? Friends and family, mostly. Wasn’t any buzz. No juice, baby. It’s all about the juice. So, like I said, gotta build the interest. Get demand up for a rematch. I’m nothing if not a show-man. This will be like Rocky-Apollo II, but better, ‘cause I’ll be in it. I’m also gonna let you in on a little secret; not too many people know this, but I made a pre-race call to Vegas last time. They had that tortoise a 20-1 underdog. Shit, baby, I know a good thing when I see it. That’s why I’m talking to you. I made myself a cool $20,000. So, you know I can take care of you tonight, baby doll, show you the sights, get you whatever you want. Gonna tell you something else; this time, it’s in the bag. Got me an angle. No, not gonna cheat, take short cuts, anything like that. Even though I suspect that slow-ass motherfucker pulled some shit like that last time. No, nothing like that. This time, I’m calling in a favor. Got me Glenn Close on speed dial. She owes me, for what she did to Uncle Whitey in Fatal Attraction. And I’ve been filling her ears about the sweetness of mock turtle soup for days now, but, you know, without all that “mock” jazz. You gotta, keep it real, baby. That’s what I’m about: keeping it real. Ain’t no “mock” anything in my game. So, what I want to know, now, baby doll, is, you want to see how fast I can be?