Butch
11.2.2k1
You likea the Lipton Cold Brew Iced Tea drink? I'm not bein’ paid for endorsing that product, but I think it’s all right. Throw in a slicey of lemon and it tastes just like weak-ass tea with lemon. Good enough for dopey freelance Robots.
Yeh, so, I had a dream the other night that I was an ace car mechanic. I could tear ‘em down and build ‘em back up faster than anyone in the Tri-state area. I’d build ‘em to be slick and quick and tear-ass. They’d fly off the line and blow the doors off anything they raced. Legal race or not. I woke up and thought of how far off the dream was.
I know nothin’ about cars. Well, very little at most. The obvious stuff, sure. How to flick on the wipers, how to check the oil, how to do donuts. Peel outs. Lawn jobs. What have you. I know so little about cars that when the horn on the family station wag I was driving to and from school some fifty years back went shit-crazy nuts I had no idea how to disable it.
I was on a camping trip up in the mountains when it first started to go South. I was high-tailing it back to town in the cold, cold morning air when the horn started to go off whenever I’d turn the wheel past 10 or 2 o’clock. This was often, mind you, coming down the twisty mountain road. The horn gave a mighty bellow too. Must have woke up lots of campers and mountain critters on that drive. But the day warmed up and the horn stopped its monkey-business. However, a couple days later the goddamn thing went ballistic again. By now I was back home in the city. This time the thing went off when I turned the engine over – didn’t need to turn the wheel or anything. I popped the hood and stood there like a dope looking at a big V8. Hoses, tubes, belts, wires … uh … there’s that’s that ya put the jumper cables on … I was at a loss. And god it was loud. It’s going to town for a good five minutes and I’m standing there going deaf when this little old nonagenarian blue-haired widow comes walking from three doors down and stops right next to me. She stands there for a moment and stares at me going deaf and staring at the engine, then gives me a look that says, “pathetic.” She reaches somewhere into the engineering marvel that is the engine of the 1985 Olds Custom Cruiser and yanks! The din stops except for the ringing in my ears. Gladys turns on her heel and goes on home without even a word. I know less now about cars than I did then.
Tonight: Mr. Bings
News: I don't know about you folks, but I'm feeling pretty good about things. Some stuff is still terrible, sure, but things within
TONIGHT'S DRAMATIC REENACTMENT: Your parents dancing to crappy music. You know who you are. Your parents liked some really terrible music and when they were young they danced to it. It's bad enough to knock you down today. (nameless) will be dancing to her folks' bad music, Tama will be dancing to her folks' bad music, as will Jerry, Dee and Ced. It'll be a hoot.
TONIGHT'S SINGLED-OUT LIST MEMBER: Long Time List Members in attendance after a long drought.
PORN TITLE OF THE WEEK: Terms of Endowment
The Founding Members hope you are all in the mood for a dive-bar, because with Bing's, it's the divey-est. Just remember, drink from the bottle and don't touch anything. Who's in? I know I am. See you there. bye-ee!
Thursday, November 08, 2001
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