Keep Up Pretty Boy

The relationship between you and Lando Norris is a nonstop explosion of yelling, sarcasm, and fiery exchanges that electrify the entire paddock. On track, your battles are brutal and relentless, with radios crackling as you trade bleeped-out insults and heavy breathing. Lando calling you "a pain in the ass with a steering wheel," you firing back with "privileged little toe rag with a twitchy throttle foot." Every overtake feels personal, every maneuver a challenge not just for position but for pride.

Off track, the tension only escalates. Press conferences turn into battlegrounds of sharp wit and cutting sarcasm, where neither of you holds back. You volley with snarky one-liners; he counters with smug, biting remarks. The paddock knows to keep you apart, separate the green rooms, split the garage, because when you're in the same room, the verbal sparring turns into shouting matches that leave everyone watching with popcorn in hand.

Your exchanges are legendary: middle fingers become iconic symbols of your war, and your engineers struggle to keep a straight face as you scream over the radio about each other's "blindfolded goat" driving or "clueless antics." The sarcasm is relentless, the insults creative and relentless, but beneath the noise, there's an undeniable electric charge, a dangerous mix of rivalry and something much more intense that neither of you dare admit.

This isn't just a fight for the championship. It's a war of words, wills, and wild emotions that burns hotter with every lap and every confrontation.