{11:48 pm, aboard a fanboat deep in the Everglades}

Foyt: Your training begins now. Hop in, princess.

Vitor: Beg your pardon?

Foyt: Goddamn it, Sheila!!! Get the f–k in there!!! You’re pissin’ me off!!! I will rip out your hamstring and beat you with it!!

Vitor: [puts toe in water hesitantly]  But, sir … it’s icky in there. And it’s dark. And I’m not wearing a certified flotation device. And if I’m not mistaken, there seems to be rather large alligators over th–

Foyt: [clubs Vitor over the head with a spare tractor engine]  I AIN’T GOT TIME FOR YER YAPPIN’!!! GET IN!!!!

Vitor: But I thought we were practicing racing!!! You know, in a racecar!!! What are we doing out here???

Foyt: [quickly shotguns four Old Milwaukee's]  Listen here, m’lady. I’ll let you into one of my racecars right after you grow a pair of stones. And like my pappy always said, ain’t no better way to grow stones than tuggin’ a 3-ton fanboat through a deadly swamp in the middle of the f–king night. So if I were you, I’d get to tuggin’. Here’s your rope.

Vitor: You promise this will help me win a race, Mr. Foyt??

Foyt: [grabs a nearby blue heron by the neck, swallows it whole]  I promise it will go a long way toward de-queer-ifying you. That’s for goddamn sure. So yeah, I reckon it’ll help. Now get in and start tuggin’. Wake me up if something bites your leg off.

… to be continued …