If I recall correctly, I used to do the exact same thing when I was a kid, except there would be a lot fewer people watching and I would have to clean the blood and broken branches out of my Little Tikes Cozy Coupe myself. Every once in a while I’d have to go get dad to pull the red and yellow convertible wreckage out of the ditch next to my house. He was pretty mad the first time, because my little car didn’t start out as a convertible. It sort of ended up that way after some on-the-fly modifications. Big branches and roofs don’t go together very well.
One thing I realized during my trips down the slight incline in my mother’s back garden is that nothing beats having the wind in your hair, the bugs in your teeth, and the twigs in your eyes. Sometimes avoiding the trees isn’t the best option. If you don’t hit the trees, you just keep accelerating. Then again, I wasn’t very bright when I was 17.
You Got, Like, Three Feet Of Frosty Air On That One
I see Globalistical Warmening is marching across the North American continent again this week. You haven’t lived until you’ve had to shovel twenty-four inches of heat. It’s interesting that really hot snow weighs the same and looks the same as the really cold snow we used to get back before incandescent lightbulbs and shitting indoors ruined the troposphere, or the ionosphere, or the globoclimatoanthropopristinosphere, or whatever it is we’ve mucked up. Don’t blame me. Back in the day, I read all my porno mags and comic books with a flashlight under my sheets at night, which emits almost no waste heat.
It does a heart good to see young fellers treating all the extra Globalistical Warmening with the respect and affection it deserves. You take that hippie bus over a jump, risking your friend’s life, lying in the ditch for no reason, all the while wearing Liberace’s idea of a Road Warrior outfit. The whole operation was pointless and stupid, and that’s the way we like it.
We Are Dairy Farmers We Believe In Nothing, Lebowski, Nothing
People would rather drink Red Bull than drink milk, and that’s sad.
I don’t know why anyone would drink a Red Bull in the first place, but it still happens. Nothing is more satisfying to me than drinking a glass of cold milk. It’s like the feeling you get from eating an ice cream cone or running over a group of cyclists. The smell of blood-soaked spandex is the only thing that can compare to the scent of fresh milk.
When did we get to the point where people eschewed actual food in favor of mysterious canned liquids? I swear, a lot of people don’t want to drink milk because their parents told them to drink it twenty years ago and they’re still going through a rebellious phase. Get over it; drink your damn cow juices, eat your spinach, and get a haircut, you hippie.
These Are Surely The End Times When Even The Amish Are Vinyl Siding Their Houses
I don’t know. I used to sort of depend on the Amish to stay the same way forevermore. Act as a barometer for the rest of us, or at least a compass. Remind us of the way things used to be, and still could be if we got in the Free Silver/Granger mood again. But now they’re making electric fireplaces to sell on Home Shopping Network. They’ve got reality shows, which proves they’re entering a world of unreality with the rest of us. There’s nothing less real than that. Well, except for vinyl siding. What’s next, Amish sex tapes?
Won’t those beards get in the way? The beards on the women, I mean.