Friday, June 30, 2006

Modern Liberalism in a Nutshell

It’s rather surprising to spend one evening in Ann Arbor, Michigan, the following evening in Plymouth, and it’s Plymouth where the left makes its stand. No, no protest this week (though there are an average of five Ferraris that make circuits on its Main Street every Sunday), rather bar night for some and music in the park for others. Whether or not it was a hippie, a skater, or just an everyday looking youngster, it was rather obscene:

And to think, it wasn’t even my car. It wasn’t even my friend’s car. It was his mother’s car. Even in a nation so divided as the talking heads claim it to be, there are certain lines never meant to be crossed, and insulting another’s mother is one of them.

Yes, it stings. Driving to work the next morning knowing “Fuck” is displayed on the back of his mom’s truck (he is in the process of getting a new car and for now it is his primary vehicle) must not exactly make my friend’s Friday, but the inevitable vengeful bloodlust will pass. Whoever did it, probably a misguided youth, will one day grow up, get a job, and get beyond the realm of political discourse where the F-bomb is the word to end all argument. He or she will realize the hypocrisy of combining catch phrases like “Fucking Bush is fucking taking away our fucking freedom of speech” with taking a black magic marker to the back of another’s car. It’s safe to say a majority of misguided youths come to this realization. After all, if they didn’t, there’d be a lot more people like this:

And considering this dude is on the verge of giving the metaphorical “Fuck” to none other than Joe Lieberman, it’s safe to assume his side of the political spectrum is so well minced that, come this November and come 2008, that vast right wing conspiracy will look bigger and bolder than ever.

Following that, one hopes the left will upgrade to Sharpie, because as a little water and effort proves...

Crayola Crayola ROCKS!

Tuesday, June 20, 2006

Clarification Part Deux

Officer: "Gary? Gary Busey?"
Me: "No, I-"
Officer: "No, of course not, too young. You must be his son. Yeah, Jake! Jake Busey! I loved you in Starship Troopers!"
Me: "Thanks, but-"
Officer: "And Tomcats!"
Me: "I guess..."
Officer: "Say What's with your dad making movies in Turkey?"
Me: "Turkey?"
Officer: "Yeah! I hear he plays some anti-Semite doctor."
Me: "I really wouldn't know."
Officer: "You guys aren't close?"
Me: "We've never met."


Officer: "License and registration."


And, really, the situation wouldn't have even happened if it weren't for my rather drunk compatriot in the passenger seat who, incidentally, really is my attorney, or at least future one. Think once you have them belted in they're harmless? Think again. My attorney took it upon himself to search my glove compartment, where the trunk release is kept. The cop is already tailing and birthday boy pops the trunk. Way to go, Alchy.

Alchy: "I thought [the button] would turn on the dome light."

Never mind that the light is already on. Oh, Dial-A-Ride, why dost thou not work weekends?