Take the ride as far as anyone can go

It's official. My car is hella evil:

I'm your Testarossa, first gear, watch me go, keep 'em in fear

Driving Togers to school this morning we started joking around about what he wanted for Christmas. I told him all he was getting was a pack of gum. Cheapest. Christmas. Ever. I then joked about how some kid in his class would get a plasma tv for his room, complete with surround sound, all three video game consoles, and a Ferrari, even though they're only twelve. Then he could say, "Oh yeah? Well check out this pack of gum! It's spearmint!"

Togers then told me that there is a kid in his class who has a Ferrari, and it's his own, not his parents'.

Did I mention that they're only twelve?

I've failed as a parent.

The last thing I told him when he got out of the car: "Have a good day. Go make friends with [Ferrari Kid]."

Ferraris and Benzes keep your girlfriend lost in a maze of luxury

A car like this one pulled up next to me at a stop light the other day:



I noticed for the first time that these have a 12 cylinder engine. I wondered aloud what the gas mileage was like for a 12 cylinder, and my friend and I agreed that it couldn't get many miles to the gallon. My friend pointed out that it probably did, however, get a lot of Poon Per Gallon (PPG).

I concur.

So, for those of you who are considering a new vehicle purchase, and PPG is high on your list of priorities, I give you Native Minnow's Guide To Shopping For A New Vehicle*.

Vehicles with a very high PPG rating:

Bugatti Veyron


Ferrari F430 Scuderia


Lamborghini Gallardo


Ducati Superbike


Vehicles with a very low PPG rating:

1970's Disco Van


White Trash Stretch Limo


Redneck Hearse


Honda Trail 90


You're welcome. Happy shopping!





*All images have been shamelessly lifted from the interweb with no credit given for the source. They are not pictures I took in my garage.

Stick shifts and safety belts and bucket seats have all got to go

The first time I used the heater in my car was when I was mountain biking at Brian Head about a month ago (no, it wasn't this sort of trip either). Until that point, I'd been running the air conditioner instead. It turns out that's what people do during the summer here in Sin City. Anyway, once the hot air was blowing, I was very displeased to detect an odor not much different from poor people smell.

"Great!" I thought to myself. "My car's heater stinks. How am I going to make it through the winter if I have to smell that for three months?"

"Wait," another part of my brain interjected. "It's probably just because the heater hasn't been used for so long. Maybe there was just some stale air in the vents."

Well, that wasn't it. I've smelled it every time I've even turned the air conditioner off and just had the vent blowing. It seems that the second part of my brain is stupid. The problem is, when I ask anybody else who rides in my car about it, they claim that they don't smell anything.

Initially I chalked this up to my super sensory abilities (Now would be a good time to tell you that I have extraordinary senses: I can smell things no one else can smell, and I once heard a bat fly into a mist net from approximately thirty yards away), or my turbo nose, as Flieswithoutwings used to call it.

Well, I haven't had to use the heater yet (our temperatures are still in the 80s), but I know the time is getting close, and I've been dreading it. I spent the last few weeks trying to figure out what I was going to do with my smelly car. I've purchased different kinds of air fresheners, all to no avail. I've been thinking about taking it in and having all the filters replaced to see if that helped. If it didn't, I was going to either have to gut the car and replace everything, or trade it in on something different.

So, you can imagine my relief when I realized that the smell was coming from my sunglasses. Or rather, my sunglass case. Apparently the case got a lot of sweat on it during the mountain biking trip, and the stale sweat has been permeating the air in my car for the last several weeks. Understandably, the smell is especially strong when I first take my sunglasses out of the case and put them on. Hence the reason I'm the only one who can smell it. (But I do still have a turbo nose.)

I'm just glad I can wash the sunglass case rather than having to go out and buy a new car.

All wrapped up in my garage

I don't know if it's the same everywhere, but here in Vegas there are a plethora of vehicles with vanity plates on them. After seeing so many of these vanity plates, some which are intelligible and others which aren't, I've come up with a few that you probably wouldn't want on your vehicle because you probably don't want their message displayed to the world.









Then there are the ones that you definitely wouldn't want to display, especially if you're on the lam, since they would give the police a reason to pull you over.

We're goin' on down the road towards tiny cities made of ashes

I went to Sedona, AZ this weekend for a friend's birthday. I don't have time to post a big story about it or anything right now, so you'll have to settle for this instead.

One of my other friends was riding with me to Sedona, so I picked him up in order to avoid him having to leave his vehicle on campus over the weekend. At one point he realized that he needed to run to the store for something, but didn't have his vehicle, so I gave him my keys. Later, when we were leaving town, we got to the car and I asked for my keys back.

Him: Oh, I'm sorry, I sold your car to a bum for twenty dollars, and a rim job. It was so worth it.

Got a '74 Camaro, I guess that'll do

It's official: My 'new' car is cute! It was declared as such by the girl I had lunch with yesterday. She is also going to be purchasing a new car soon, so she was asking me for advice on how to do it. I gave her a few tips, but qualified them by telling her I probably wasn't the right person to talk to about it. Every time I've purchased a vehicle, even though I've been happy with the vehicles (mostly) and the prices I've paid for them (mostly), I've always felt like I could have spent less than I did if I was better at bargaining. Whether that's the case or not, that's the way I feel. Probably because I don't trust car salesmen (the Bible taught me not to trust snakes). Does anyone?

Why is it that such a large purchase is the only thing where you never quite know how much it's going to cost you until you're actually ready to sign off on the paperwork? If you go to the supermarket to purchase a loaf of bread, you know it's going to cost a certain amount of money. You pick out a loaf, take it to the check-out and pay the pre-determined price. Simple.

If buying bread were like buying a car, it would happen something like this:

Buyer: Yes, I'd like to buy this bread. How much is it?
Seller: How much would you like to spend?
Buyer: I'll give you $2.47 for it.
Seller: Hold on, let me see if I can do that.

*Seller walks into an office for a few minutes and then comes back*

Seller: I can let you have this loaf of bread for the low, low price of $3.89. That's a great deal.
Buyer: That's too much.
Seller: Well, hold on, let me see if I can come down from that at all.

*Seller walks away again, spends a few minutes in the office, and then comes back*

Seller: Ok, I've got a deal worked out where I can let you leave this supermarket with this loaf of bread, and you'll just have to pay 5 installments of $0.75.
Buyer: If I do that I'll end up paying $3.75. That's not much less than your other offer of $3.89. That's still too much.
Seller: Ok, I can let you have it for $3.09.
Buyer: You know what? I'm going to leave now. I'm sure I can find some bread somewhere else.
Seller: Wait, hold on. I feel we're getting close to a deal. What's it going to take for you to be able to go home tonight and make yourself a sandwich?
Buyer: It's going to take you giving me that loaf of bread for $2.47.
Seller: Ok, let me check with my boss. I'll be right back.

*Seller disappears again, probably to go look at porn for a few minutes, and then comes back*

Seller: You've got yourself a deal, $2.47 it is. Now, I'm just going to need you to fill out this paperwork.

Three hours later you're able to leave with your newly acquired loaf of bread.

Seriously, should anything have to be this complicated?

Let's waste time chasing cars around our heads

Now that I've successfully completed my shopping for a used car and life is starting to get back to normal, I thought I'd share some of the things that I learned from the used car salesmen that I talked to last week. Obviously some time has passed, so I may not be relating this verbatum, but the overall message is the same.

Dealership 1
Salesman: So, do you have a wife?
Me: I have an ex-wife.
Salesman: So she's not going to be driving around with you?
Me: No. Don't get me wrong, we're still friends, but she's not going to be driving my car.
Salesman: I have an ex-wife too. She cheated on my with my best friend.
My Friend: So you aren't still friends then?
Salesman: I'm Arab. We kill people.

Later . . .

Salesman: So how much are you looking to finance?
Me: Well, I'm debating how much I want to put down, but I have enough that I could put down a pretty sizeable amount.
Salesman: Actually, it's better to have a low down payment because banks don't want to fund small loans. So, if you wanted to put $5000 down, you should just put $2500 down instead and put the other $2500 into a savings account. Then when you make your monthly payment, you just pull half of it from that savings account and it's like your payment is cut in half.

Seriously, do people buy into this type of bullshit?

Dealership 2 (over the phone)
Me: Hi. I was calling about a car you have advertised . . . I wanted to know how many miles it has so I can decide if I want to come in and test drive it.
Salesman: Well, that car has 100+ thousand miles on it. (without really answering my question, and then without waiting for my response) I can tell by your voice that's too high for you. Have you thought about maybe getting into a PT Cruiser?
Me: No. I don't really like those.
Salesman: Alright, alright. Would you be interested in a Sebring instead? Do you like those?
Me: I can't really say that I've seen much of those, but that's ok.
Salesman: Alright, well I'm just trying to get a feel for what you're looking for.
What I wanted to say: Here's a hint: Why don't you just fucking ask me what I'm looking for in a car? That might be a good way to "get a feel for what I'm looking for."
What I did say: It would probably just be easier if I came out there and took a look around to see if you have anything I'd be interested in.

What I learned: Car salesmen don't really give a shit what you're looking for, often times they're just out to push a certain vehicle onto somebody. I know, I know, big surprise. I imagine their after work conversations go something like this:

Salesman 1: So, I heard you sold another PT Cruiser today.
Salesman 2: Yeah. It's crazy. All I had to do was mention it and the guy bought one. It's like people don't even realize they're giant pieces of shit.
Salesman 1: I know. I kind of feel bad selling them to people. Well, I mean, I'd feel bad if I actually had a soul.
Salesman 2: Bwahahahahaha. A car salesman with a soul. That's a good one.

Dealership 3
Finance Manager: You probably hear this all the time, but you know who you look like, right?
Me: *Nodding my head yes*
Finance Manager: James Spader, in that movie Less Than Zero.

Wha, wha, whaaaaaat!? I have another doppelganger? I was fully expecting to hear Bill Clinton. Now I'm going to have to watch that movie just to see what he was talking about.

Happenstance has changed my plans

Part of my master plan for my life was to drive my car into the ground so as to avoid having to make car payments until after I finished my degree. Unfortunately, the driving-the-car-into-the-ground part of that happened earlier than I would have liked (although, not earlier than I could have reasonably expected). This last batch of necessary repairs included a new serpentine belt and belt tensioner, a new starter, and new motor mounts. It would have cost approximately $1400 in parts and labor to fix, and that didn't even take care of whatever was dumping water (water pump?), the alternator that's starting to show signs of wearing out, and the oil leak that would have taken another $800 to fix. It all seemed like a little much to try and take care of on a 1999 Mercury Mystique with 166,000 miles. Most vehicles from Ford Motor Company tend to crap out at about 120,000 miles, so I feel as though I've been pushing my luck for the past year or so.

So, after weighing my options, I decided to start looking around for another vehicle. I simply can't afford to sink a couple thousand dollars into a car that isn't worth that much. Especially when there's a very real possibility that something else would go wrong shortly thereafter. Even though I dreaded the thought of having to deal with all the weasely used car salesmen in Vegas, I figured it was the best option. I told you about the slimeball sales manager that my friend and I talked to the other day before the BRMC concert (seriously, if I were to write a movie script where one of the characters was a used car salesmen/drug dealer, I would want the casting director to find this guy and offer him the part). I was afraid that they would all be like that.

Fortunately for me, my friend knows a guy who works for a car dealership, so he arranged for me to go out and see him. I have to say, that's definitely the way to shop for a car. My friend told me that the salesman was a great guy and that I wouldn't have to worry about him trying to screw me over. So I called the guy and he told me to come out and see if there was anything on the lot that I liked, and that if there was, he could get me a deal for $300 over invoice. I figured it was worth a shot, so I borrowed my roommate's car and went out there. Honestly, it felt a little weird pulling up to a car dealership to shop for a used car in a $30,000 vehicle that's only about a year old, but that's just how I roll.

I met my friend's friend, told him what I was looking for, and he showed me several vehicles that would suit my needs. After a couple of test drives, I settled on one (a 2006 Nissan Sentra with 16,500 miles), and signed off on all the paperwork that night. I just might be the worst car shopper in the history of car shoppers, because I feel like I rushed into things. Plus, the vehicle I got was a couple thousand more than I was looking to spend, but it should also be a very reliable car that maintains its value. I should be able to drive it for a long time.

Earlier in the day I'd told my mechanic to fix the bare minimum on my car, so that I could drive it to a car dealership and use it as a trade-in. I knew I wasn't going to get anything for it if I couldn't even get it to the dealership under its own power. They'd called me earlier to tell me it was ready, but I hadn't picked it up yet, so I couldn't take my new car home until the next day (I could have, but that would have required two of the employees to follow me home, then one of them would have had to drive me back the following day when I dropped off my trade. I told them it would be less hassle for everyone for me to just pick it up then, and that I could make it that long without any severe emotional stress).

Yesterday I drove my old car out there. I have to admit, it was one of the more stressful drives of my life. There was still a rattle coming from somewhere in the engine and I knew I had to make it all the way across town (about a 30 minute drive) without it breaking down on me in order for them to take it off my hands. I was also afraid that they'd start it up, hear the rattle in the motor and say they couldn't give me the agreed amount for it, but everything went fine, and I got my new car.

I'm currently suffering from a great deal of buyer's remorse. While it was a great deal, and my payments are exactly where I wanted them to be, I'm nervous about how I'll be able to afford the increase in insurance along with that. The better gas mileage will help with that (~8 mpg better than my old car), but it won't cover all of it. Now seems like as good a time as any to really start marketing the tweaker-on-the-go meth kit (described here and pictured here). Also, I'm once again accepting applications from potential sugar mamas.

You've got a great car, yeah what's wrong with it today? I used to have one too

Saturday I was fortunate enough to be invited to the European style pool at the Wynn Resort and Casino. In other words, a top optional pool. Top. Optional. Two words that made my entire weekend. It was so nice to finally be in a place where I could take my top off without feeling objectified. It almost makes up for the fact that my car broke down a few hours later (and now I have to decide between paying as much as the car itself is worth to have it fixed, or buying a different one). Almost.

I guess no more kissing the girl who loved my car

A couple weeks ago I had lunch with a girl I've been interested in for a while. On the way there we were passed by a Corvette.

Her: [Minnow], I want a Corvette.
Me: Why? You're not white trash, and it's not like you have a small penis, do you?
Her: I certainly hope not.

When we got to the restaurant there were two yellow Corvettes in the parking lot.

Her: Look, two more.
Me: They must be having a small penis convention.

The hostess seated us next to a window and about halfway through our meal I saw a guy walking from the restaurant toward one of the Corvettes. Not being one to let a joke die (even when I should because it's no longer funny), I felt the need to say something.

Me: Want to see what a guy with a small penis looks like? Look!
Her: That's mean.
Me: But funny.
Her: True.

[slight pause]

Her: Do you have a big penis [Minnow]?
Me: You've seen what I drive.
Her: I'm serious.
Me: I don't know. I've never compared it with anyone.
Her: You never had light-saber fights when you were a kid?
Me: No.
Her: Ok, but you still haven't answered my question.
Me: Well, the only thing I can tell you is that I've never had any complaints.
Her: Is that before or after a break up?
Me: Both. If you want I can call my ex and you could ask her.
Her: That's ok.

Now, obviously I didn't know how to respond to being asked such a personal question point blank. I don't even know if it's possible to answer that question properly. Here's how I envision a few different scenarios:

Scenario 1
"Do you have a big penis?"
"Yes."
What she thinks: Liar!

Scenario 2
"Do you have a big penis?"
"No."
What she thinks: Well, that's the last time I'll ever talk to this guy.

Scenario 3
"Do you have a big penis?"
"You've seen what I drive."
What she thinks: He doesn't want to admit that it's small.

Scenario 4
"Do you have a big penis?"
"I've never had any complaints."
What she thinks: He's conceited because his exes were all too nice to complain about it and give him a complex.

Scenario 5
"Do you have a big penis?"
"You could call my ex and ask her."
What she thinks: He's still hung up on her.

Scenario 6
"Do you have a big penis?"
"Come here and I'll show you." or "There's one way you could find out."
What she thinks: Creep!

Feel free to let me know the proper way to answer if there is one. If there isn't, feel free to come up with other scenarios and what a girl would think.

and the silver chauffeur says that it's all in your head

I took a few minutes out of my extremely busy day (of doing absolutely nothing) yesterday to wash my car. That's not terribly exciting you say? You're absolutely right, but it needed it. Badly. I haven't washed it in nearly two months even though it should have been done as soon as I came back from visiting my family for Christmas. It's funny how driving through a couple of snow storms can really dirty things up.

There are multiple reasons why I haven't washed it. First, I've been busy. Second, every time it crossed my mind it was too cold to do it. Third, and probably most important, I wanted to leave it dirty.

You see, I have a friend who is a bit of a perfectionist. If you move a pencil on his desk while he is gone, he will straighten it as soon as he returns. He usually doesn't even realize that he's doing it. He likes things to be clean. He needs things to be clean. He needed my car to be clean and he wasn't afraid to make that clear. The crazy thing was that I already knew that my car was dirty. I didn't need him to tell me that.

If you want your stuff to be in order, that's fine. If you want my stuff to be in order, that's fine too. If you come and move my stuff around so that it fits your idea of what is acceptable, that's not fine (and yes, he has taken it upon himself to straighten out my things on multiple occasions). If it pains you too much to ride around in my dirty car, well, maybe I'm going to cause you some pain.

I was actually thinking about washing my car on the way home that day, but since he felt so strongly that something needed to be said, I left it dirty. I did this simply because I knew it was killing him not to bring it up again. Finally, a few weeks later he told me that I should wash it so that the salt wouldn't start eroding the paint, but he wasn't really worried about that, he just wanted all to be right in his world. I still didn't clean it. At least not until yesterday. But that was because I wanted it done.

Don't ever mistake me for someone who isn't petty and juvenile, for I will do things (or not do them) simply out of spite.

*************************EDIT*************************

Csumidam me tyiro jilo, Ale pasa mande!

The following is an email* that was sent out by one of my 'friends.' It was originally sent to the University community to advertise a performance of the arts, but he modified the language and sent it out to a group of my friends in order to poke some fun at me (if you haven't heard the story about the Hungarian, click here for a little bit of background before reading further).

Without further ado, here's the email:

[Native Minnow] Presents

The Hungarian State Folk Ensemble Jan. 18

[Native Minnow] is proud to present the Hungarian State Folk Ensemble, featuring "The Hungarian" and a rich and colorful repertoire of folk dances and stunning costumes from Hungary and Hungary-inhabited areas, including The Free Zone, Gypsies, and the Blue Oyster Bar. This extravaganza takes place at 8 p.m. on Thursday, January 18 as part of the [Native Minnow] Master Series. Established in 2002 and arguably the queerest folkloric dance ensemble in the world, the Hungarian State Folk Ensemble has performed in 44 gay bars and barns across four continents and won the admiration of more than 7.5 pillow-biters.

The group’s choreographies are all based on authentic Hungarian bone-smoking techniques, some of them collected in isolated villages with smoking elements dating back hundreds of years. The extraordinary folk music that inspired George Michael, Elton John, and Neil Patrick Harris is put on stage by both the Folk Orchestra and the world-famous Lance Bass Gypsy Orchestra. The Folk Orchestra plays authentic, traditional instruments, like the skin flute, while the Gypsy Orchestra plays both dance accompaniments (orgies) and performs alone (auto-coitus). Their rich repertoire includes folk music that inspired Hungarian and international classical ass-bandits.

Kentucky Fried Chicken will be available at the door and moist towlettes will be provided in the event that sweaty balls are an issue to any patron. Tickets to the Hungarian State Folk Ensemble are $40 (free bj included), $55 (free rim job), and $85 (fisting optional) and can be purchased at the Performing Arts Center Box Office at 895-ARTS (2787) or by visiting [Native Minnow] in the parking lot next to his car, a maroon Mercury Mystique affectionately called the Gaytto Schled**.

*Please note that the terminology used in this email does not reflect my personal views. I promise that I don't use slanderous terms such as 'pillow-biter,' I'm just showing you some of the crap I put up with.

** This is a play on words from when my car was missing half its hubcaps and I used to refer to it as the ghetto sled. Since then, I've replaced the hubcaps, and hence no longer refer to my car in such a derogatory fashion, but this particular friend of mine still does.

Roses are red and the sky is blue, I've got my barrel at your neck so what the fuck you gonna do?

My first car was a 1977 Chevrolet Caprice Classic. It was given to me by my grandmother as a wedding present, and I couldn't have been more grateful for it. It burned about a quart of oil for every tank of gas, but it got us to the places we needed to be for nearly a year. It even survived collisions with two deer and Flaming Gorge Dam. It was probably state of the art when she first bought it though. After all, it did have electric windows and seats (pretty impressive for 1977) and a slot in the arm rest that would fit a Coke bottle (the first cup holder?).

I stopped driving it when I realized that it was going to cost me well over $1000 to get it to pass the safety and emissions inspections that were necessary to renew the registration. It stayed in my parents' storage shed until they moved a year and a half later. They told me that they weren't going to move it with them (and I don't blame them, I wouldn't have either) and that I needed to do something with it. I tried to give it to at least three different family members, but none of them wanted it. Finally I sold it to a guy who wanted to put it in a demolition derby for $50. I never even went to the derby to see how well it did.

The other day I was reading an article about the latest automobile craze to hit the southeastern U. S. It's sort of the anti-low-rider. They've been jacking old cars up and putting them on rims that are 24" or larger. These cars are called Donks, Boxes or Bubbles. According to an article in the latest issue of Maxim (and if you can't trust a fine literary work like Maxim then who can you trust?), a Donk is a 1971-1976 Chevy Caprice or Impala, a Box is a 1977-1990 Caprice, and a Bubble is a 1991-1996 Caprice.

Supposedly people are so crazy about these things that you can no longer even get a "rusted shell from the junkyard" for less than $5000 (again quoting Maxim). I guess they basically rebuild everything, and these cars end up costing about $100,000. Apparently, a lot of the people who drive them feel threatened enough to have to carry guns everywhere to thwart any attempts at car-jacking.

All I want to know is why couldn't this craze have started in northeastern Utah (or Wyoming) in the late 90s? I'd have been able to sell the car for a hundred times more than I actually did. In fact, if I had only been able to hold on to my '77 Caprice for the past ten years, I'd now be sitting on a gold mine. Talk about not being able to capitalize on one's assets. Of course, I probably also would have had to begin packing heat.

Put another dime in the jukebox baby

What exactly does it mean when you're driving with kids in the car, and the one yelling "TURN IT DOWN" because the music is too loud is the four year old?

But he's driving and striving and hugging the turns, and thinking of someone for whom he still burns

Here's the story about how my friend had a birthday and made me get a speeding ticket (what a bitch that friend is for doing that, I know).

She sent me an email a few days ago asking me if I wanted to join her at an Irish Pub last night. I have to admit that I wasn't too keen on going (since I've been working my butt off this week - literally, it fell off), but then I found out it was for her birthday celebration so thought I'd stop by for a little while. What could go wrong with that?

Well, I'll tell you what can go wrong with that. Plenty!

First, I drove out there with another friend of mine. We'll call him BJ (even though it has very little to do with his real name and he hates it when I call him that). BJ and I left campus in my car and drove out to meet the birthday girl & Co. When we walked into the place, they came to seat us and we told them we were looking for a group of people. Just then the birthday girl let out a big laugh, and the hostess said, "Can you hear them?" We obviously could so didn't need her to show us to our table. We sat for a while, beverages were consumed, jokes were told, and many laughs were had. It had all the makings of an enjoyable evening. They even had an Irish band playing, and let me tell you, you haven't truly lived until you've heard the up-tempo Irish version of Radiohead's Creep. I would normally hate that Irish band for ruining one of my favorite songs, but I actually know the fiddle player, and she's so nice that I can't hate her (no matter how much she might deserve it).

Unfortunately, I really was tired, plus it was a weeknight, so BJ and I left after being there a little more than an hour. I drove BJ back to campus so that he could get his car. After dropping him off I pulled off of campus and onto one of the major streets around campus. Little did I know that I was accelerating quickly. Quickly enough that Officer D. Devitte was horrified by my speed. Or maybe he was just looking out for the safety of that one other driver that was about a mile ahead of me on the road because you never know what a crazy guy like me is going to do when he's driving out of control. I ramped through my gears so fast that I was doing 48 mph within about two feet of the place that I turned onto the road. You had no idea that my car could go that fast that quickly did you? Neither did I. I always thought that it was powered by about seven hamsters running on a wheel, but there's no way that seven hamsters could crank out that kind of speed. Maybe the last time I took it to Jiffy Lube they upgraded me to seven squirrels or something. Everyone knows that squirrels run faster than hamsters.

Anyway, I also didn't have a current proof of insurance card in the vehicle with me so Officer D. Devitte wrote me a ticket for that and the speeding. In the time that it took him to write that ticket seven Fast and the Furious: Tokyo Drift type cars zipped by us, but those guys couldn't have been going as fast as I was. I'm also pretty sure that within a five block radius of where we were about 700 drug deals went down, 87 stereos were stolen from cars, 3 children were kidnapped, someone was raped and murdered and a drive by shooting was planned, but check the news to make sure.

So the way I see it, the birthday girl now owes me about $190 after I prove to the court that I do in fact have insurance on my car (that in no way shape or form is capable of accelerating as fast as Officer D. Devitte says it is) because if she didn't have to go and have her stupid little birthday party, then I would have gone home my normal way, at my normal time, and wouldn't have gotten pulled over because they can't pull you over when you're just one of 500 vehicles that are moving that fast on the same street. Sure, you might be saying that it's all my fault because the speed limit there is 30 mph so I should only drive 30 mph, but, I'm here to tell you that nobody can drive 30 mph on that street. Do you hear me? Nobody. I know because I've tried it about a million times, and I can never do it. Ok, maybe not never, but every time I do I get rear-ended because I'm going too slow (ok, so that only happened once, but then again, I've only driven 30 mph on that road once, so it really is every time).

I hate cops. But you know what? I say, "Screw you Officer D. Devitte. I'll drive the way I want." The people who come up with speed limits are all stupid anyway. They should really just be suggestions. That way all the stupid morons that don't know how to drive will kill themselves in fiery auto crashes and clear up the road for the rest of us.

Does anybody know if Ticketbuster people really can get your ticket reduced every time? I may have to look into that.

and I'm the king of the road

Here are the reasons why I am a good driver and everyone else sucks:

• I can drive near an accident, and even look at it, without slowing down
• I move to the right lane when someone behind me is going much faster than I am
• I use my turn signals
• I understand right-of-way laws
• When I make a left hand turn I end up in the correct lane when I straighten back out
• I don't think I'm too good to merge before my lane ends
• When I pass, I go more than 1 mph faster than the person I am passing, even when I'm driving uphill
• I find it easy to stay in my own lane, even while I'm talking on my cell phone and even if a gust of strong wind catches me while I'm reaching for some chocolate covered cinnamon bears
• I can work the gas and brake pedals equally well with either of my feet (with or without shoes on)
• I haven't fallen asleep at the wheel in 4 years, and the last time I did I was able to successfully maneuver a construction zone
• I can steer the car with my knee for a long enough period of time to jot down lists like these

And with that, I'm off to the mountains for the weekend. See you when I get back.

Rob the grave to snow the cradle and burn the evidence

I know that car manufacturers and dealers are just out to make a buck, but can't we come up with some kind of legislation so that old people aren't allowed to buy 'hot chick' cars? It really sucks when I'm pulling up to a light and get my hopes up only to look over and see a grandma sitting where a hot girl should be.

Since the world revolves around me I think this should be required. If not, then there should be some kind of standardized bumper sticker that they're required to put on there which says something along the lines of "My grandkids are cuter than yours."

I'm glad we got that taken care of.

Most of us believe that this is wrong

Yesterday one of my friends took his vehicle in to have it serviced. The place he took it to had a shuttle service so they dropped him off at work. However, they weren't running it anymore by the time his vehicle was ready to be picked up, so I took him to go pick it up.

He showed up at my office when we were ready to go and said, "Thank you so much for doing this. I promise, I'll give you road head on the way over."

He didn't. I guess we'll have to find some other way he can make it up to me.

It's a 7-11. Do you wanna take a walk outside?

A friend of mine's vehicle is in the shop, so I picked him up this morning to give him a ride to work. I'm cool like that. On the way in he asked if we could stop by 7-11 to get some chocolate milk. Being the lover of sweets that I am, he didn't have to ask twice.

We stopped and got our goodies, and as we were getting back into the car I looked down and saw an empty Trojan box in the parking lot. Now, I'm a huge advocate of safe sex, but I've never been in such a hurry that I've had to unwrap the condom in the parking lot of the store where I bought it. Seriously, can't it wait?

Maybe this person was mistaken in the kind of protection he was purchasing, but I don't think it was enough to save him if he got into a car accident after that.