If I don't die in New Hampshire it is only by the will of God
I don't get it. Honestly. I know that these people tested lower than smack happy monkeys in road tests, but it's getting insane. I think I'd feel safer being shelled.
Today, Lori and I were going in to Durham so she could feed her rats, and I was driving. It's very hot here (close to 100, more with the heat index) and the poor Yankees are dropping like flies. I was enjoying the heat. It made me feel at home again, and even more than that, I was enjoying the fact that I wasn't working out in the sunshine which, like several of my ex-girlfriends, is amusing in small doses but cruel with extended exposure. I strolled over to my beautiful pimp ride (89 caprice classic--burgundy) and put the keys in the door. I felt more than heard something coming at us quickly. A red car with the license plate "ROBINE" zoomed past to the end of the street and then whipped around in a U turn, not slowing at all, and shot towards my car.
This is where the divine intervention happens, in a most fitting and amusing fashion.
Rather than the story end with my demise or the destruction of my car, Robin E slammed head on into the curb, popping her tire. Her car then just sort of stopped as she slammed on the breaks. There was a small hissing sound as it deflated.
She jumped out. I offered to help fix the car if she had a spare. She was wearing a very tight white shirt, and extremely short tan skirt. When she moved you could see the green tatto that spidered up her back.
"No thanks, I'm going to a funeral."
Confused by the complete illogic of the statement, I watched her swish her way into the building. Lori wondered if the girl hated the person whose funeral she was attending. I was left wondering what a call girl would do at a funeral.
Shudder.
I leave you with that beautiful thought. I think something political is coming down the pipe next.
Good night.
Today, Lori and I were going in to Durham so she could feed her rats, and I was driving. It's very hot here (close to 100, more with the heat index) and the poor Yankees are dropping like flies. I was enjoying the heat. It made me feel at home again, and even more than that, I was enjoying the fact that I wasn't working out in the sunshine which, like several of my ex-girlfriends, is amusing in small doses but cruel with extended exposure. I strolled over to my beautiful pimp ride (89 caprice classic--burgundy) and put the keys in the door. I felt more than heard something coming at us quickly. A red car with the license plate "ROBINE" zoomed past to the end of the street and then whipped around in a U turn, not slowing at all, and shot towards my car.
This is where the divine intervention happens, in a most fitting and amusing fashion.
Rather than the story end with my demise or the destruction of my car, Robin E slammed head on into the curb, popping her tire. Her car then just sort of stopped as she slammed on the breaks. There was a small hissing sound as it deflated.
She jumped out. I offered to help fix the car if she had a spare. She was wearing a very tight white shirt, and extremely short tan skirt. When she moved you could see the green tatto that spidered up her back.
"No thanks, I'm going to a funeral."
Confused by the complete illogic of the statement, I watched her swish her way into the building. Lori wondered if the girl hated the person whose funeral she was attending. I was left wondering what a call girl would do at a funeral.
Shudder.
I leave you with that beautiful thought. I think something political is coming down the pipe next.
Good night.
posted by Brian Wilkins at 10:21 PM
2 Comments:
Erm...wow...
Damn, I gots to meet me some of these crazy drivin' tattooed hotties.
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