Ebony babe rides fat cock

The midday sun blazed over Daytona International Speedway, reflecting off the asphalt and the massive, roaring grandstands. Down in pit lane, amidst the high-tech, multi-million-dollar stock cars, sat an anomaly.
It was a giant, motorized, hollowed-out Krabby Patty.
Strapped into the driver’s seat—somehow squeezed into a fire suit that didn't quite account for his lack of a neck—was Patrick Star.
The Strategy Meeting
How Patrick ended up qualifying for the Great American Race was a mystery that NASCAR officials were still trying to untangle. SpongeBob was currently acting as his crew chief, wearing a headset that kept slipping off his square head.
"Alright, Patrick," SpongeBob squeaked over the radio. "Remember what Mr. Krabs said! If you win the Harley J. Earl Trophy, it’ll be great publicity for the Krusty Krab! Just stick to the draft and remember the golden rule of racing!"
Patrick stared blankly at the steering wheel, which was actually a giant pretzel. He took a bite out of it. "Uh... mayonnaise?"
"No, Patrick! Steering! Just turn left!"
Green Flag: The Dropped Green Flag
"Drivers, start your engines!"
The grid erupted into a deafening, 40-car symphony of 800-horsepower V8 engines. Patrick’s car made a sound more akin to a wet bubble.
The green flag dropped, and the field rocketed away, leaving Patrick sitting perfectly still on the starting line.
"Uhhh, SpongeBob?" Patrick's voice droned over the radio. "The other cars went away."
"Patrick, step on the gas!" SpongeBob screamed.
"Oh, right." Patrick slammed his foot down on the pedal.
The Patty-Wagon screeched to life, its grease-fueled engine backfiring with a cloud of localized smoke that smelled faintly of old fry oil. He was already half a lap behind, but Patrick had a secret weapon: complete and total unawareness of aerodynamic physics.
Lap 75: The Art of the Draft
Within an hour, Patrick had somehow caught up to the back of the pack. To the seasoned cup drivers, the pink star was a moving hazard. He wasn't following the racing line; he was drifting up and down the banking like a jellyfish in a current.
"Man, that pink guy is a loose cannon!" Bubba Wallace yelled over his team radio as Patrick drifted past him backward, waving happily.
"Hi, stranger!" Patrick yelled out his window, completely ignoring the fact that he was traveling at 195 miles per hour.
Because the Patty-Wagon was shaped like a giant dome, it created a bizarre aerodynamic wake. Cars trying to pass him were getting sucked into his "grease-draft," slingshotting Patrick forward every time they tried to avoid him. By lap 150, through sheer luck and a few timely caution flags caused by Patrick stopping to look at a shiny piece of track debris, the Krabby Patty was in the top ten.
The Final Lap: White Flag
The white flag waved. One lap to go. Patrick was sitting in third place, drafted closely behind the leaders.
"You can do it, Patrick!" SpongeBob cheered from the pit box, jumping up and down so hard he was inflating. "Just hold your line!"
Suddenly, Patrick’s stomach growled. It was a deep, rumbling sound that echoed louder than the engines around him. He looked down at his steering wheel. The pretzel was gone. He looked at the dashboard.
There, sitting on the passenger side, was a single, pristine Krabby Patty that Mr. Krabs had packed for his lunch.
"Ooh, a snack," Patrick muttered.
He unbuckled his five-point safety harness to reach across the cockpit. As he lunged for the burger, his foot slipped off the accelerator and slammed onto the brake, while his hip shoved the steering wheel hard to the right.
The Finish Line
What happened next would be studied by racing physicists for decades.
The sudden braking caused the two lead cars to clip Patrick’s bumper. Instead of wrecking, the Patty-Wagon’s rounded sesame seed bun acted like a pinball bumper. The two lead cars spun out into the wall in a cloud of smoke, while the kinetic energy transferred entirely into Patrick’s car.
The Patty-Wagon went airborne, spinning like a tossed coin. Patrick, completely oblivious to the chaos, was upside down in mid-air, successfully biting into his sandwich. "Mmm, extra pickles."
The Patty-Wagon crossed the finish line upside down, scraping along the asphalt on its top bun in a shower of sparks, exactly 0.001 seconds ahead of the rest of the field.
Patrick Star had won the Daytona 500.
Victory Lane
The crowd was dead silent, then erupted into confused cheering.
In Victory Lane, they handed Patrick the massive, gleaming Harley J. Earl Trophy. He looked at his reflection in the silver, then looked at SpongeBob.
"Hey SpongeBob," Patrick whispered, his face covered in mustard and confetti. "This is a weird-looking frying pan."
Before anyone could stop him, Patrick poured a bottle of celebratory milk into the trophy, threw in a handful of confetti, and began eating it like cereal with his bare hands.
It wasn't standard NASCAR protocol, but nobody was brave enough to go up there and stop him.

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