Closed Mind...Open for Business

Have you ever thought of yourself as open-minded?

I used to think that I was until a few weeks ago. Like many Friday evenings, I look forward to closing out my work week crushing beers at my favorite spot with my lady, any number of friends, family members and/or acquaintances that happen to be around, and are willing to watch me get dumber by the swig. This particular Friday was slightly different though as I had a run-in that was absolutely a first in my lifetime.

I met a gay drug dealer.



Let that sink in...really digest that for a minute.

If you are reading this and say “so what”, then piss off and just stop reading now because my head was spinning from this encounter and your open-mindedness will not be tolerated! Call it ignorance, call it immaturity, whatever you please, but I felt like I had just discovered some mythical being that only existed in folklore and bad dreams of children. I have bought my fair share of narcotics in my earlier years and never, EVER was the seller like this dude at the bar who drunkenly gushed about his alleged 'six-figure bank account'. There's always a form of macho, toughness with most drug dealers, but this dude's bravado was a little, how should I put this...off. Instead of talking about which rapper is the hardest, or 'Scarface' quotes, this entrepreneur was more interested in bragging about 'The Hankey Code' and his extensive knowledge of it.

Three things were blatantly clear about this dude from the onset:

1. – He was gay
2. – He was a drug dealer
3. – He had poor oral hygiene




Observation #3 is completely irrelevant to this story aside from the fact that it does dispel one stereotype of gays being a neat, clean and tidy people. I figured I do enough to reinforce bad stereotypes on here, so why not score one the other way for once.

Anyways, I’m sitting there with a friend, who also seemed a little perplexed at the combination of this guy’s sexual preference and occupation, but he could at least speak. The two of them started to bullshit about the quality of ‘Sub-Zero’ refrigerators while I zoned out hardcore, pondering the life of a homosexual drug dealer.

I guarantee this little Lance Escobar sells ecstasy. Though this logic appeared in mere nanoseconds, I will explain how it came to fruition:

He is gay -> Gays like to dance -> People dance at raves -> Raves play techno -> Techno is gay -> Boom! Ecstasy dealer!



The slowed down thought process is astounding!

So now that my stereotype-based logic has established Manuel Noriegaya’s product line without him even saying a word, the dominoes just kept falling from there. Thoughts and questions rushed through my head like a flash flood! I explored the possibilities of what the 'Liberace of LSD' would do in the circumstance of being stiffed (ignore pun) when it came to payment. My brain simply won’t allow me to picture a badass gay holding a 9mm in somebody’s face demanding money. It plays out much more light-hearted and hysterical where they are prancing and screaming and holding a gun as far away from their body as possible by pinching it between the thumb and index finger. And the handle of said pistol is either rhinestone or some glittery pink. Trust me, after 5 minutes, I realize how off this probably is, but my brain makes the snap judgments, not me.







Remember that scene in ‘Half Baked’ where Bob Saget’s character said he used to suck dick for coke?



Well after meeting the gay drug dealer, I started to realize not only does this actually happen, but he probably looks at it as a perfectly acceptable form of payment, like when eBay started to accept PayPal.



As quickly as this encounter began, it ended without any grand finale. I turned around from my daze of deep thought and stereotype reinforcement and dude was gone. While staring at my half-full beer for what seemed an eternity, I retreated back into my bizarre, ignorant thought process to give consideration to what else could be out there that I never even thought of. Aliens and yeti aside, I kept it on the human level. Here’s what I came up with that I still am yet to meet or see in person:

Black Cowboy





Ok smartass, Darius Rucker 100% does NOT count. He made a country album, big deal. Country is probably the easiest genre of music to succeed in because people will listen to ANYTHING being said on a country album.

Asian Truck Driver





I may have to rethink this one because if I do ever encounter one, it could literally mean impending death. I’m afraid of Asians driving a Scion, so to think of one driving a tractor trailer filled with Kim Chi ready to fuck my shit up sounds like a scenario I’d prefer to circumvent.

Straight Priest



that's just wrong...



still not a straight priest...



Ok, so covering faith, music and sports, I am yet to find a straight priest! Who knew?!

Female President







I hear your cries of “SOMEDAY!” and I agree fully, just not today.

This enlightening experience has opened my mind to new possibilities, made me realize there’s still plenty to learn, and confirmed that I will never, EVER go to a rave. Mr. Gay Drug Dealer, you be safe out there, for your profession is not for the faint of heart. Keep pitching that product, and always have gay pride, and if you ever get that pistol, remember to tilt it to the side.



PEATH HOMIETHS!

There's More to TV than ESPN...

Like many Americans, I enjoy some solid TV viewing after a long day of work. Lately, I have been trying to bust out of my OCD bubble and enjoy programs aside from ESPN and every fucking thing on the Food Network. I even love watching 'Throwdown with Bobby Flay' even though I think he is such a smug looking cockbag.

Just look at that smirky face, it makes me want to smash his head in a panini press. My disdain for Mr. Flay goes back years before the Food Network really gained the popularity it has today. During some random show where he was grilling something in front of a live audience, a guy in the crowd said something that ol' Robert Flay didn't take too kindly to. The exact words escape me, but I do remember it being relatively harmless. At that moment, Bobster looks up from his charred poblano peppers with that same shitty smirk and says, "Heh, nice shirt". What an asshole! Maybe I'm being dramatic, but I really thought he was an uber-douche for attacking some guy's clothing choice.

SIDE NOTE: I'm fully aware of the hypocritical stance I am taking considering the subject matter of my previous post, so save yourself the pat on the back for pointing that out.

Anyways, to circle back to my narrow array of television enjoyment, the point is that I enjoy a lot of Food Network programming. Very recently though, I have stumbled across a show that has captivated me like the first time I saw a 'Magic Eye' book and thought my brain was going to explode through my eyes.


I am, without question, NOT the target audience for this show, and probably not even a demographic that they think knows this programs exists, oh but I do, and not even embarrassed to share with you my interest in...

That's right, bitches! I really like watching 'Teen Mom'. MTV literally sharts TV programs out like they are going for a high score and nearly all of them suck hog, not this little gem though. As unexplainable as it may be, I have found an interest in following the lives of teenage girls who got knocked up and how they handle it. I'm not a female, I'm not a teenager, and I'm not a mom. The reasons why I shouldn't be watching this are endless, the reasons I do watch it defy logic.

Since I have invested some of my TV time with this show, it is only natural that my opinion of the "cast" should be shared. Off we go!

Catelynn:
This girl has one of the shittiest situations I have ever known. Her mom is the epitome of a bitch, acts like an four year old, and TRIES to ruin this girl's life. There isn't much I can say here that's funny because this girl has it tougher than most of us will ever know. Plus she gave her baby up for adoption, an open adoption at that, so yeah, nothing witty or funny there. Her and Tyler did get voted Prom King & Queen, so it's not all sadness and depression for these two. I'm half convinced that focus groups of parents insisted this girl be on the show because if I was a teenager and witnessed this girl's home life, I'd never be the little prick that 99% of teenagers are to their parents.

Tyler:
This dude is awesome. He is a super wigger pimp that doesn't talk thuggish or anything, but definitely dresses like he is black. What adds to his awesome level is that he has a wacked-out, ex-con, coke-head dad, who is fucking hooked up with Catelynn's mom!!! You can't write this stuff people. Trying to digest this situation makes my head throb with pain and confusion.

Maci:
Probably the most popular Teen Mom on the show, she also seems to be the most level-headed. Her kid is cute, her baby daddy is an asshole and she's trying to go to school and make a new relationship work. All admirable things. Her new boyfriend Kyle is a dirt-bike riding oaf who looks like he could have down syndrome, but he seems like a good guy. Anything is better than that fuck nut of a baby daddy, Ryan, eww he makes me so mad. Put his head next to Bob Flay's in that panini press.

Everybody who gets attached to a show pulls for someone to overcome the odds. This is the one you bet money on. Jesus, saying that makes me realize that I'm talking about placing bets and gambling on which one of these Teen Moms will 'win' at life like this is the God-damned Kentucky Derby! Man, that's fucked up. Though I wouldn't mind a mint julep right now.

Farrah:
This girl kinda has it together. I use the term kinda very loosely. Baby daddy died in a car accident, she doesn't seem to really give a shit. Hates her mom, hates her baby daddy's family, but does actually have a job. Maybe I have missed some stuff, but it seems like all she does on this show is get her hair done by some emo Margaret Cho look-a-like instead of being a good mother to her cute kid, Sophia. The relationship she has with her mom is way fucked. There's court hearings, therapy, community service, all the bells and whistles. It's like 90210 (the old one) without money. Who am I kidding, this girl has it together just as much as the next cast member has tact.

Amber:
This girl and her main squeeze, Gary, are by far the most entertaining on the show. They are both crazy, with a slight edge going towards her. The issues between these two go on and on. Amber dropped out of school because of the baby, Gary is the only one working. He does have a job, but Gary is pretty much a dud. I tried so hard to get the video of him "proposing" to Amber on the beach, which was truthfully one of the most comical things I have EVER seen. In it's absence though, submitted for your approval, I share the following video that I feel best highlights their unique relationship:


Can't you just feel the love? The way she so aggressively grasps his moobs and starts to go ape shit is what love is all about. In the most recent installment of this show, I saw Amber and Gary break up. Yes, the rock solid foundation from which their love was built upon was shaken up like Gary's supple breasts when he moves.

As I sit and ponder why I like this show, thoughts of these teen mom's cloud my brain. The fate of these young lasses is yet to be determined, new chapters are written or shit out of MTV producers every single day. The path they choose is not only shaping their destiny, but the lives of their spawn as well. Some will show grace under fire, while others will have meltdowns of epic proportions, but one thing is absolutely certain...

Gary needs to buy larger t-shirts.

The Clothes Make the Man

Most men will never admit to giving 3 seconds of consideration to what they put on when they walk out the door, but I feel this is bullshit on every level. At the very least, shirt selection is a pre-calculated decision that will reveal some sort of effor ranging from "PSEUDO-NOT-CARING" to "THIS MATCHES MY MOOD TODAY, SMOOCHES!!!"

Having a background in marketing, I constantly analyze, criticize, and villianize some brands and their efforts to be well-loved by the Americal male. Let's take a look at a few of my favorites in no particular order.

UNDER ARMOUR

This athletic apparel came on the scene a number of years ago predominantly recognized in football. It has value in that particular application, but the problem is that Under Armour has now invaded everything, thus losing it's appeal.

You know who are big Under Armour supporters/wearers/fags?...Dads. Grocery shopping on a Saturday morning is going great until I see Jim, father of three, 5'10'', 275lbs squeezing mangos draped head-to-toe in Under Armour. What's the deal Jim? Is a rowdy game of nothing about to break out in frozen foods? Or maybe you are a little concerned about breaking into a full-blown drip of sweat while reaching for the hockey bag full of pork rinds. These guys can't even run the 40yd dash in less than, well, sadly most of them probably can't even run 40yds period. You either can't let go of your high school sports days of mediocrity, or actually believe wearing this bullshit will make people think you are athletic, both sadden me. I have under armour too! They're called fucking BONES and they protect my vital organs, and bonus: I didn't pay $75+ for them! Win, me.

AFFLICTION/TAP OUT/OTHER AGRESSIVE ACTION VERBS

If you wear this garbage, PLEASE stop immediately. Similar to how Under Armour makes dads feel athletic, Affliction & Tap Out DO NOT MAKE YOU A BADASS! In fact, I'd bet that 70% of the asshats that wear these brands would get the shit beat out of them relatively easily. Also, probably 100% of them drive trucks and you know what that meansssssss: SMALL PENIS!!! So you want to really put on this public facade of being a big, tough shit kicker when in reality this is the male equivalent to having acrylic nails, platinum blonde hair extensions and a wonder bra. Look at these stunning examples:
The guy in the middle looks Morpheus banged Willy Wonka and this thing popped out.

Also, nothing says I'll fuck your face up better than a pair of Affliction flip-flops! This devalues the brand in my opinion because nobody has ever looked intimidating in flip-flops...EVER! It's like "OFF!" brand bug spray coming out with a new product scent called "Malaria", it just doesn't make sense.


I have even been seeing little no-name brands trying to come up and cash in on the action-verb-based clothing line. Maybe I can suggest some of my own like

-Bludgeoning
-Chug
-Rape

You're all gay and possibly retarded for thinking a t-shirt makes you tough. I think I had a similar viewpoint when I was 9 and bought my first pair of Reebok Pumps thinking I'd be able to dunk. Bottom line, they sell this shit in Spencer's Gifts and the only clothing that should be bought there is a gag shirt for your dad's 50th birthday, it's novelty stuff, not Macy's on Muscle Milk.

MOSSY OAK/REAL TREE

I live in Western Pennsylvania, but I know this is not a regional phenomenon. What the fuck makes people think that wearing this hunting gear in a non-hunting setting should be socially acceptable?! Outdoor activities are great, from Cornhole to big game hunting, and I myself am an avid fly fisherman, but that doesn't mean I'm going to wear my fucking chest waders and fishing chest pack to Target. This is stuff that is made to keep you disguised from your prey, which I completely understand, but do you really have nothing else at home that it became your primary choice of clothing for going to Denny's for a Grand Slam Breakfast? Some may see my viewpoint as a little critical, but these two brands have ejaculated their camouflage glory onto products and items that will never need to look like a bunch of bark and leaves. Take this for example:Seriously, a fucking wallet?! I wouldn't be surprised if this was a velcro wallet, but not just any velcro, one that was engineered to be silent velcro that won't scare the trophy buck away as you reach to pull out your Durex to try and go bang the deer.

Here is another glorious example of where this brand doesn't belong: How bout that? A God-damned cake that looks like a tree. How delicious looking. I'd bet my next 2 months pay this was for a wedding in Alabama.

ZUBAZ
For the love of God bring these back! If this guy doesn't look like he's having the greatest time ever, I don't know who does. They were like sweatpants on acid. Zubaz might be one of the coolest pairs of pants ever made, unless you are a Minnesota Vikings fan and are eerily comfortable in purple pants.
Speaking of purple pants...

HYPERCOLOR
So maybe I'm getting out of date and pointing out things you don't see much of anymore, but I'd love to meet the genius behind Hypercolor. Let's be honest, who doesn't want to wear an article of clothing that will let everybody know you have a warm semi rockin' in your shorts or possible pink camel toe?, or easily lead construction workers and 13 year olds to call you "Hot Tits" with it being completely accurate. Also, why is her box apparently freezing cold and what does this say about her? You just can't win with Hypercolor because it is saying something about you that someone will interpret incorrectly. What happens to guy in purple shorts when he rips an epic fart and it's one of those hot ones that smell putrid? Do the shorts turn white around the anus and he looks like he had an asshole bleaching incident gone wrong? Try explaining that to mom.

MISCELLANEOUS

So I want to wrap this up by discussing two other aspects of men's clothing that don't pertain to a specific brand, but make me want to empty a clip on you if you are a supporter of the following two:

THE FOREARM SWEAT BAND

Listen Guy Fieri wanna-be, or hoopster extrordinaire, this makes you look like a moron, unless you actually are Guy Fieri, in which you would get a free pass in exchange for some fish tacosI see dudes rocking this accessory and ALWAYS want to ask why. I truly see no redeeming value to wearing this. It makes you look like a jackass, and furthermore, some of them have FUCKING 'TAP OUT' WRITTEN ON THEM! SHOOT ME IN THE FACE! Ok, just stop it. That's all I can say about it, stop it.

GOTH PANTS

I can honestly say I don't relate to the goth lifestyle and for good reason, I was blessed with social skills. Dressing like a corpse in pants that were made for Precious send out a message that, well, I don't really get. And the odd oversized pocket placement, what's that all about? Who the hell wants to have to unzip something on their taint to retrieve their Mossy Oak velcro wallet?...not this guy. I don't get why the pants have to be the width that they are.My natural assumption is it is a defense mechanism to avoid being beaten by a dude in Affliction flip flops.

"Oh, look at Edward, so goth and so black, wait a minute, his legs are as thick as sequoias, maybe I should re-think this."

The joke is on them! Your little bird legs pulled off the ultimate defense! Now celebrate with walking around the mall with your equally corpse looking girlfriend, hunched over like you both have scoliosis and couldn't smile if you were paid to.

For the record, maybe I should try and give you an example of how I perceive my own stylings since I just spent time bashing other people's clothing choices. This probably best exemplifies me:

Drink it in, bitches!

The Guy Who Died From Diseases Nobody's Ever Heard Of

I am 28 years old, pushing 29 in about a month. I have told previous tales of my overly-exaggerated deteriorating health on here before when I introduced many of you to my protagonist/antagonist, David vs. Coloniath struggle known as Diverticulitis. Yes, it is still prevalent in my life but with the tools only most senior citizens deploy (Metamucil, Shredded Wheat, Yogurt) I have been on the winning end of this battle for now.



Feeding your curiosity of where this is going, I will move on. I missed an entire fucking week of work last week. Don't rejoice in what a pleasure some of you may see this as. Here's how it went down:

Sunday, May 23: I go out to play a round of golf with good friend and oft-referred to as an Anthony Kim look-a-like, Ben.



We play bad rounds of golf that we are quick to blame on everything from humidity to the oil spill in the Gulf. One thing is undoubtedly a factor in my piss poor game though...ALLERGIES! Go ahead, call me a pussy, make some comment about how millions of people suffer from them and I am just being weak. Fits of 6, 7, even 9 sneezes in a row, eyes that felt like 180-grit sandpaper and a nose that wasn't even leaking snot, this fucker was literally shooting out water and I almost sold the patent to Moen.

Now I have tried a myriad of allergy medications over the years all with odd results. Some made me narcoleptic, some made my head disconnect from my body like a helium balloon and some just did nothing. I have taken a stand and decided no more allergy meds for me, and I will just ride it out for whatever reason.

Fast forward a to that evening. I get home and am dizzy. Plain and simple just a little light-headed. My girlfriend completely attributes this to being dehydrated and in the sun all day golfing, so I chug some soda, some water and continue on making dinner for us.

Hours later, I am getting to a point where a person suffering from Multiple Sclerosis could walk a straighter line. Fuck it, I'm tired, I need to get up at 4:30am to start my work week so I'm calling it a night.

Monday, May 24: 4:30am alarm goes off, I pop up as usual and face plant into my wall 3ft away. Ok, still dizzy I guess. Go downstairs for my coffee, and sloppily ninja roll down the last 5 stairs. My OCD for work-related routines is still blocking the logic receptors in my brain from realizing something is definitely wrong. I proceed to shower, and God shines his light on me allows me to not fall over and die in a naked, wet mess.

Kiss the girl and whisper "Goodbye" (FUCK YOU, I at least own my actions) and get behind the wheel for my usual 65 mile journey to work. I make it officially 3.2 miles before I drive my car directly off the road from not being able to see straight or focus. I turn that whip around and go back home and call off, something is not right and the logic part of me just allowed the light bulb to turn on.

So Monday is a waste. I sleep 18 hours and the room starts to spin like a giant DJ Hi-Tek treating my room like a record. Massive amounts of vomit ensue.

Tuesday, May 25: More of the same if not worse, so my mom (who happens to be a nurse and works at my doc's office) realizes I'm not faking it to avoid work. With no way of being transported, she get's my doc to call in a prescription of Valium and something else for nausea (over the phone diagnosis: VERTIGO).


Food eaten since Sunday night: One half of an english muffin and 2 popsicles

Wednesday, May 26: I can't even believe this is still going on and even getting worse. If I had one of those Rascal Scooters, I would have not only rocked the shit out of it, but even probably wrecked it several times from lack of balance, depth perception, focus and general equilibrium.



My doc says that it is imperative I get in to see her that day, so my girl graciously takes the day off work to haul my ass to the doctor's office.

-Get ears checked
-Get nose/throat checked
-Do medical equivalent of a field sobriety test
-Talk about how I have felt for about 10 minutes before dry heaving in the direction of my doc

DIAGNOSIS: Labrinthitis: basically an innear ear problem that can last from a week to months, resulting in severe vertigo, yakking, and other fun bodily disfunctions. Labrinthitis...really?!? This sounds so made up that all I could picture was an androgynously-clad David Bowie in a similarly titled movie.


My doc is usually very conservative and tells me that she is going to double the dosage of my Valium, give me an even stronger anti-nausea med and even recommends that I go to the hospital to be put on a super-dramamine IV to stabalize me. WTF?!?! I pass on the hospital options because that would cost me about $500 out of pocket in my health insurance deductible, so I just follow her other orders.

She then tells me that I'm not allowed to work the rest of the week and to not even think about operating a motor vehicle, or even scaling a flight of stairs without proper assistance.

So yeah, then Thursday and Friday are complete wastes of a day. I sleep, eat a few more popsicles, shed a few more pounds, puke a few more litres of bile. Real quality "me" time if you can only imagine the joy.

Sunday rolls around and I FINALLY get medical clearance to drive a vehicle again, and permission to work again with the warning that my symptoms can return at any point and to not take it lightly if they do.

Diverticulitis, Labrinthitis, if you could take bets on my health right now, I'd give you 2 to 1 odds I develop another "-itis" before I hit 35 and will give a 5x bonus payout to the person who correctly guesses which one.

Lock of the week = BRONCHITIS
Sleeper pick of the week = MENINGITIS


I will wrap up today by telling you that I am currently still suffering from some dizziness, but have otherwise made a near full recovery. The allergies though, the trigger to all of my latest problems persist.

Just this morning, I was brushing my teeth before work and I will make a plug that will get me absolutely nothing, but I am a firm believer in my Oral-B Vitality electric toothbrush. Anywho, I'm brushing away when the Moen nose kicks in and starts to trigger a series of sneezes, mid-brush. WHAT THE HELL DO I DO?!?!

First sneeze approaches. Coming...coming...I keep brushing like a retard and plug my nose. BOOM! A powerhouse sneeze combined with a 50,000 rpm toothbrush and mouth full of toothpaste produces a minty spackling job all over my bathroom mirror that looks like the handy work of an autistic construction worker.

OH SHIT! HERE COMES ANOTHER ONE!

Second sneeze quickly approaching. Coming...coming...pull toothbruth out, don't plug nose, but close mouth and try to hold it in (mouth still full of toothpaste) BOOM! Vertical eruption up into my nose and sinus cavity that can only be described as what it might feel like if Newport cigarettes manufactured cocaine.




I brushed my teeth hours ago and have been blowing a slimy snot/Sensodyne with Whitening concoction out of my schnoz ever since. After the initial burn, it is becoming oddly refreshing to breathe in through my nose.

Ok, that's it, I am sick of having hit "ALT + TAB" every ten minutes some shithead walks in my office, so I bid you all good health, a great weekend, and a Shaq-sized middle finger to allergies and anything that ends in "-itis".

Highways, Byways and Go F*ck Yourself My way

I absolutely love to drive.

There is just something liberating and exhilirating about being behind the wheel that I can't explain. Is it the fact that speeding is fun, dangerous and illegal? Maybe. Could it be that my car is the only place that I have complete control over everyting (what i'm listening to, how loud, how hot/cold, how fast/slow, seat position, etc.) and my dictatorship on wheels gets me off? It's plausible. Do I think I'm a fag for asking myself questions and then answering them? Aaaabsolutely.

In addition to finding kinetic bliss while in my car, I also experience rage that could easily lead someone to believe I'm about to commit violent acts that are hardly warranted. I will humble myself for a nano-second though and admit I'm only a tough guy while inside my car. If a situation were to actually go down and a roadside fight was in the works, I'd speed off with a heart rate of 236bpm and still somehow probably dismiss calling myself a pussy.

The mere fact that what you are driving provokes me to make snap judgments and assumptions about you is probably wrong, but I don't look at it as superficial, my demented state takes it much deeper (that's what she said). Let's take a closer look and expose some truths, some asshole-ish opinions, and some straight up mental fabrications spawned from an odd blend of stereotypes, personal experiences and college drug use.

You drive a truck = you are a redneck with a small penis. The bigger the truck, the more your junk looks like an egg sitting in a bird's nest. The louder your truck...the more attention you crave that your Budweiser-slugging mother or local trailer park molester never gave you. You are instantly an asshole to me and I wish your truck would blow up. Oh, you have customizations to that barge on wheels? Congratulations! I'm glad you got more lights on your truck than in your house and need a fucking escalator to get into that shit box, we're all REEEAAAL impressed. Please make my day when I look at you in total disgust and say something to justify it's white trash glory like "It's great for draggin' naggers!" or "It has two functions: haulin' steers and scarin' queers". And let's call a spade a spade, you only put 36'' tires on that behemoth so it would be easier to stick your baby dick in the tail pipe.


You drive a luxury car = you don't deserve it and are probably a dickhead/cunt. I admire luxury vehicles because they are luxurious. Wow, talk about profound thought of the day. In essence, cars serve one purpose: To transport us from one point to another. That's it! So luxury cars really aren't doing anything different than some turd on wheels, but making the journey much more enjoyable. One of my best experiences tapping into this world of luxurious auto transport was going to a Pirate game with my old boss in a $95,000 BMW 7-series. It was mid-July and swamp-ass could begin in a moments notice. This car air-conditioned my ass for 60 miles right through the bottom of the seat! Glorious! Ok, I'm getting off topic. When I see people driving these cars the following process takes place internally:

Man or Woman driving?

• Man = He must be a doctor or lawyer. They are somehow the only professions that make money in my subconscious.


• Woman = What a bitch. I bet she cleaned some doctor or lawyer out in the divorce. There is no way she should be driving that because women are terrible drivers (sad but true) and she's just going to fuck it up.

Age of man driving?

• 40 or younger = Shithead, and is a prick in all circumstances, probably also has small penis.


• 41 and older = Must be nice. That guy probably has a sick job and and even sicker house. I better have one of those in 20 years or I'll take it out on my kids.

Age of woman driving?

• 40 or younger = I bet she can suck an egg through a coffee straw. If giving a good blowj was the only requirement to have that kind of a ride, I'd buy a bottle of Crown Royal, buy some bananas or kielbasa and do a "dry run".


• 41 and older = Never ever had a job. What a sexist but brutally honest snap judgement to make. Apparently my mind finds it impossible for a woman to earn such automotive stature on her own. And I'm all for women excelling in the workplace, just last week my secretary earned an extra 5 minutes at lunch by learning self-adhesive stamps don't need licked. She's now a free-range secretary. It's called progression people, embrace it.
  
  
  

You drive a convertible = you're either gay, mildly retarded, or think it somehow will give you a +5 boost in sexual prowess. Seeing convertibles makes me strongly believe this person falls for every email scam, has purchased meat out of a truck at some point, and could be easily coerced into buying a time share in Pakistan. I live in Pennsyl-fucking-vania! You are lucky if you get 6 hours a year to have that top down, and for those epic 6 hours, you look like a tool. I'll admit this for the first time publicly, but when I was a college student, I was driving past a convertible parked on the street (top down) and became so annoyed by the site of it, that I threw a huge McDonald's bag of garbage in it as I passed it. It was evil, wrong, immature and...cathartic! Yes, it felt gooooooood. Stupid asshole paying more for less car. Ha! I have a metal roof that protects me from alllllllllll! I could stab your roof with a knife and game over!

Alright, I think you get the picture...I basically hate everybody else on the road and what they drive. Did I mention that I feel I am a superior driver to all other motorists? Yeah, with absolutely no concrete evidence, it is my true beliefe that I am superior in skill than 99.99% of other drivers on the road. I envision others in total awe of my ability to conquer obstructions, use proper technique in signaling and checking blind spots and even park in any spot with ease. Again, this is a complete figment of my imagination and I'm really only impressing myself. Maybe I will buy the bananas and kielbasa and simultaneously consider bottom rib removal surgery...GOOD JOB ME! Now go earn yourself a Lexus from yourself!