This year, the famous Purple Bologna eater was revving up his Ski doo, for all to see. He had metal studs sticking out of his track for the best traction on the icy roads. He laughed at the other competitors. His pole position was # 1, as he was the number one leader in this years ski doo racing ranks. He pulled up with his mighty fast, and light, two stroke machine. It roared, as the massive crowd of 5 people roared.
Then, a small time villager rolled up with his old Elan ski doo. It was a one cylinder, 1970s vintage. He revved it up as he was in the back of the pack. It let out a mild "pack". The # 2 pole position driver, with his shiny chromed up machine, laughed hysterically, as did all the rest of the racers did "Hey, nice to finally know that they did build a machine to mimic the human body functions too! Nice fart!" He revved up his machine, as this # 2 pole position driver was Willie the Flasher. The driver of the Elan ski doo was Dompie. His grandfather came up to him, to give him some advice. "Forget about everything that I ever told yeah! You remember, like watch out for Sasquatches... Instead of leaning into the curves, you must drift across them with the speed of a gallstone going through your urinary tract! Let me tape your hands to your machine, in case you lose it going off a cliff or something!"
The 14 year old Dompie looked sternly into his Grandfathers eyes "Do not worry, Grandpa. I do not need any tape. My boots are frozen to the planks of this machine, after we went through the ice of that frozen brook way back there.. Do not worry, I will win it for Santa Clause!"
Grandpa nodded his head and said "I know you will bring the Holiday Glory back to Doperville, as I had once won this contest way back in 1957! But back then we used our wash tubs hooked up to our huskies teams. I had a team of weiner dogs, but won when the other huskie teams ran after some skunk..." Dompie shouted "Enough Grandpa of your nocturnal nightmare stories, I have to focus on winning here! This is serious business!"
Christmas lights adorned the track. The mayor fired off the starting fire crackers. He hit one machine and it blew up on the track! All of the other machines roared at top speed, within a few seconds. The Elan was in the back of the pack, with the driver opening the nitro valve just a tad. He had two bottles of nitro, and needed to use it for all of the track.
The crowd of 5 sprayed beer on the contestants as they rushed through the starting point.
The little Elan ski doo passed the number 10 rider, then the number 9 on the straightaway to the first turn that clung around the mountain. His machine drifted past the number 8 ski doo, as he headed around the turn. The next straight away he blew by the number 6 to the number 3 ski doo. Now, he was just a few hundred feet from the # 2 and # 1 riders who had just crossed a frozen lake. The # 2 ski doo threw a hand grenade in the middle of the frozen lake. Within minutes, the ice broke up into small pieces. It was not safe for anyone to drive over. He waved at the Dompie, who braked suddenly before hitting the icy waters.
Dompie looked at the side and seen a fur tree laying just over the lakes shore, at an angle of 30 degrees. A strong, massive fir tree. He backed up, and hit the nitro on his ski doo and broke every vertical standing limb on the tree, as he flew over the lake while doing a handstand on his ski doo in grand fashion. The crowd of 5 people, who were watching the event on a jumbo tron sighed in spectacular fashion.
One of the crowd of 5 said "Dompie is heading towards the # 2 ski doo now! He may win it. This maybe bad news.. We may have to find the money in our village to pay for a statue for him, after winning.. Just to place along his Grandpas one!" Everyone started to boo Dompie.
Dompie was just about to overtake the # 2 ski doo. The # 2 driver thrust out his left boot towards Dompie, who caught it with his hands in mid air as his knees kept driving along. Both were headed towards Dead Mans toe path, a deadly curve cut out of the mountain side. It glistened and shined in solid ice. # 2 ski doo flew over the side of the cliff, as Dompie steered his ski doo around it with his knees, still holding on to # 2 drivers boot, who was being dragged along the curve towards the safe straight away. He then slung # 2 with a gentle heave, into a beautiful pine tree.
Now he was heading towards the finish line, with # 1 just along side of him. He got behind # 1 to get into his back draft. # 1 then sprayed some paint in back of him at Dompies visor. He took off his helmet, and threw it to the side. He got along side # 1 again. The Purple Bologna driver banged his ski doo side to side with the old Elan. A side mirror, a side panel, and a few strips of duct tape flew off of the ragged machine. If he would continue to do that, the machine would never make it to the finish line.
Dompie then remembered that he was the champion moose caller for the village fair way back when he was 6 years old. He began calling for a moose, to come on the trail. The Purple Bologna eater then rammed the old Elan again. "What you moaning for, loser? Give up, you are going to lose! Loser!". Then, as the Purple Bologna eater driver looked to the side at Dompie, a big bull moose got on the trail and got just nearly in front of the # 1 skii doo to ram his antlers at the Purple Bologna eaters helmet. He flew off of his machine, as his machine sputtered and stopped just a few feet from the finish line.
Dompie opened his nitro valves, as they were nearly extinguished now. He just sputtered across the line. Victorious!
His grandpa came and gave him a great hug! "Wow, a Raccoon saved me, yet a moose saved your win! What a great family miracle! It surely must be from Santa Clause!" Dompie roared "Get me my friggin statue.. I do not care if you got to raise taxes in this freaking village!"