Yer Doin’ It Wrong

Yer Doin’ It Wrong


A 2600 horsepower, 1963 Ford Falcon? Hells yes!

But no, no, no. You can’t make it look like that. You should paint it that stale eggnog color popular on Fords back in the day. Get rid of the flashy wheels, and put some stamped steel with a bit of rust on the edges on there. Put a couple dents in a fender. Put a bent coat hangar in the little socket where the AM radio antenna used to go. Get some fuzzy dice, or a tassel from a high school graduation mortarboard, and hang it from the rear view mirror.

Then pull up next to, to, well, anything at a stoplight –from a Corvette to a Lambo — and give the guy the finger. When the light turns green, show him who’s boss. Very, very boss.

Well, At Least She Didn’t Say, “Recalculating,” In That Disgusted Voice The Nuvi Uses

Well, At Least She Didn’t Say, “Recalculating,” In That Disgusted Voice The Nuvi Uses


Racing in Newfoundland. Well, through Newfoundland.

I’m trying to picture this rally setup of driver/navigator transferred to a NASCAR race.

Take a left. Take a left. Take a left. Take a left. Take a left. Take a left. Take a left. Take a left. Take a left. Take a left. Take a left. Take a left. Take a left. Take a left. Take a left. Take a left. Take a left. Take a left. Take a left. Take a left. Take a left. Take a left. Take a left. Take a left. Take a left. Take a left. Take a left. Take a left. Take a left. Take a left. Take a left. Take a left. Take a left. Take a left. Take a left. Take a left. Take a left. Take a left. Take a left. Take a left. Take a left. Take a left. Take a left. Take a left. Take a left. Take a left. Take a left. Take a left. Take a left. Take a left. Take a left. Take a left. Take a left. Take a left. Take a left. Take a left. Take a left. Take a left. Take a left. Take a left. Take a left. Take a left. Take a left. Take a left. Take a left. Take a left. Take a left. Take a left. Take a left. Take a left. Take a left. Take a left. Take a left. Take a left. Is that a gas station? Pull over, I’ve got to tinkle. Take a left. Take a left. Take a left. Take a left. Take a left. Take a left. Take a left. Take a left. Take a left. Take a left. Take a left. Take a left. Take a left. Take a left. Take a left. Take a left. Take a left. Take a left. Take a left. Take a left. Take a left. Take a left. Take a left. Take a left. Take a left. Take a left. Take a left. Take a left…

Falling With Style

Falling With Style

About ten minutes ago in dog years, this sort of tumble was strictly for movie stunt men. Now they’ve married a bouncy house on steroids and a crane, and everyone that’s got nerve enough to try it can fall with style. I humbly offer my marketing skills to help sell the thing to the masses: You’ve got to add a whoopee cushion sound to the big bag when they land on it. You’ll be richer than Disney in no time.