When Cody Peters rides his ATV, he often screams, “Woo- Hell Yeah!” which may be a genetic trait. His father was Boyd Peters, who won the 1965 Daytona 500 and their story was the basis for Talladega Nights: The Ballad of Ricky Bobby.
Mr. Peters, 30, also appears to have inherited Boyd Peter’s exuberant crash every car attitude. “You know that look that a golden lab has when licking its own balls — that’s how Cody licks life,” said Bubba Thompson, a friend.
Growing up in Daytona, Mr. Peters was interested in wet T-shirt contests and distinctive clothing from an early age. “He’s the kind of person who wants to wear a bright orange Ed Hardy top with his very fancy hunting cap,” said Tammy-Rose, a friend. “He’s often seen passed out after beating up a guy in a bow tie or some kind of gay hat.”
Ms. Tammy Rose added, “He knows what he likes, and what he thinks is gay as hell.”
By the fall of 2013, he was a student at Daytona Community College, fluent in sarcasm, fond of T-shirts that say, “I’m With Stupid” and living in a trailer on the edge of campus that was full of people hell bent on being evicted.
When asked for words to describe himself and his friends, he replied: “You could try ‘heady- cuz them mother-fuckers give me a heady-ache!’
Taylor-Lynn Sloan, a fellow student at Daytona Community College, who is known as “T-Lo”, lived in a trailer across an open field from Mr. Peters.
The two had met briefly during the summer of 2012 at a mutual friend’s hog boil and he remembered her as crazy and funny as hell. ”There was an “in-ur-face, mother fuckers” quality about her,” he said.
That fall, Ms. Sloan and Mr. Peters got to know each other better. She wore TJ Maxx knock off Prada eyeglasses that were almost identical to his. She appreciated both death metal and Marilyn Manson, as he did.
When she visited his house, she generally arrived with an armful of Hot Pockets and gas station tuna sandwiches, leftovers from the Quick-Stop where she worked. “I started referring to her as our ‘that bitch with breadifits,’” he said.
She did not own a car, but he had an ATV, which also helped forge a bond between them. He often gave her rides to Winn Dixie for groceries.
Still, neither thought of becoming more than friends, partly because one or the other was usually dating a local stripper or the night manger at Best Buy. During that year of just being friends, they created several traditions together. “Sunday nights were ‘NASCAR’ and ‘Keeping Up With The Kardashians.’
Early in the summer of 2014, he invited her and some other friends to his family’s trailer in Kentucky. “It was a disaster weekend for me,” she said. “My hat blew off while we were mud wrestling…AND I lost my sunglasses in a fist fight I got into with his cousin Barbara-Jo. Cody and I went swimming in their above ground pool while I was drunk as fuck and he ended up carrying me out of that mess.”
Not long after, she recalled, he asked her: “Remember our conversation about being two somabitchs ready to fuck up other people’s shit up? Well, I would like to make a slight amendment. I’d like to take you down to The Daytona 500 and hang loose” For once, both were single at the same time.
It wasn’t long before they were getting high and talking about marriage, which Mr. Peters imagined would be like “entering into a deep ball pit with my best friend at Chuck E Cheese.”
Ms. Sloan, who is now a nail tech artist at Fantastic Sam’s, said she could never have conjured up a partner who is so kick ass. On May 31, 2015, he proposed in a Medieval Times that his uncle, Clayton Barns manages. He asked her to wait outside while he got the turkey legs and tap beer all ready.
“I came in and the first thing I remember is all the knights yelling, ‘you are now his wench, fair lady” and I was like, “oh shit, this fucker gonna ask me to marry him!”
On June 4, they were married at The Medieval Times in central Florida, he in a vintage John Deer T-shirt and she in a gown from Dress Barn. Mr. T-Bob, the best man, watched the groom throughout the ceremony. “He looks like a train wreck. He’s so nervous. I just told him, “Ain’t nothing to it but to do it.”
Afterward, there was a reception in the “wedding court” in the Medievil Times, with views of Walmart and Red Lobster and small swords in little severed head shaped packages as gifts for guests.
“In the days leading up to the wedding,” the groom said, “I’ve felt like I’m wading into a pool of my favorite wing sauce and I don’t know what the hell will happen. All’s I know is, we gonna get dirty tonight, bitches. Hell yeah!”