Faster Than a Speeding Pile of Shit

Well, the good news is that I'm sitting pretty in the car-fund department thanks to my monster windfall from the raffle, a.k.a. "The Great Downtown Bingo Fire of 2003." And even better, I've been cleared of any wrongdoing thanks to my clever use of the fake name Homer Bicks on all the official paperwork, and the fact that I wore a very distracting Bob Dole mask the whole time I was down there. It was doubly distracting since half of everybody thought it was a Raul Julia mask, and they were all arguing about if he'd died or if that was just some Hollywood publicity gimmick to help promote the next Addams Family movie, The Addams Family Vs. The Manson Family. Personally, I thought it was a damned good Bob Dole mask, but it was pretty dinged up from some bachelor party action so that may have accounted for the Raul Julia misconceptions.

The bad news is I can't find anybody reputable who wants to sell me a goddamned car. I used to not trifle with such minor details as the personal ethics or legal status of some dude trying to sell me a set of wheels, that is until I got saddled with the most recent incarnation of the Bricksmobile, that flaming piece of shit that only went fast when it was rolling down the street away from me. That thing was possessed like Christine except it was by the ghost of some lazy motherfucker who didn't want to kill anybody and just liked to sit on his front lawn with his shirt off.

I'd bought that epic shitbox from this guy named Steamboat Willie out in front of an Indian casino several years back. Yeah, I know that story sounds like bad news right from the start, no shit Sherlock, but beggars can't be choosy when they're nearly broke and too drunk to climb on top of a tour bus and scam a ride home.

I'd met Steamboat Willie several hours earlier, at a party some blind guy was throwing in his hotel room, and I immediately disliked him. Nobody at the party was supposed to be there, it was all just a bunch of guys who had figured out they could drink for free if they impersonated a celebrity voice and fooled the blind dude into thinking the whole cast of Hollywood Squares was partying in his room.

Most of the folks there were pretty cool, picking the voice of some celebrity who could actually conceivably be there, like Robin Leach or Dick Clark. I for one was doing a pretty spot-on Arsenio Hall impression, if my memory serves me correctly. But not that asshole Willie, that hotdog had to piss everybody off by doing a fucking Mickey Mouse voice, endangering the good times and free booze for all. Thankfully the blind host guy was drunk as shit and actually wanted his picture taken with Mickey, he didn't suspect a thing. Somebody clicked their pager like they were taking a picture and everybody was happy.

That didn't stop Willie from eventually finding a way to spoil the party, as he propositioned one too many girls in that squeaky voice to go fuck on the patio, on top of stupidly refusing the blind guy's offer of a giant wheel of cheese. This brought the whole house of cards tumbling down and we all got thrown out of the hotel and casino simultaneously. But that's Steamboat Willie for you. He's the kind of sick bastard who would cut a big, wet fart in a girl's face and call it "Butterscotch Kisses." I hated that guy.

But, you know, I needed a ride home after we got tossed out and $50 sounded like a pretty good deal for a car that wasn't missing any doors or anything major like the floor. If I'd been slightly less trashed I might have considered the high emotional cost the Bricksmobile would eventually toll, but at that point I was just happy to have a comfortable place to sit down. Actually, it wasn't called the Bricksmobile back then, I'm not even sure what kind of car it was. In retrospect, it probably should have set off some alarms upstairs that the name of the car had been filed off, but like I said I was half in the bag and thought it was just an "unmarked car," like some kind of cool FBI shit.

Needless to say, Omar Bricks learned his lesson there, and this time around I'm not buying a car from anybody who talks in a cartoon voice or refers to himself in the third person. Call me prejudiced, but I've got to look out for my own best interests on this one. I can't afford to buy another car that has the "Armageddon" light come on in the dash after I've only been driving it for ten miles.

Maybe I should check and see if Consumer Reports has a rating for that shit. I need a car that rates a full moon or whatever their symbol is for "bitchin'".

Bricks out.

Raffle
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Flaming Pogs & the Partial Robotomy
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Whistler's Motherfucker
You know what really pisses me off? People who can't whistle but still do. Talk about begging to be beaten about the head and neck areas. Whistling isn't even that enjoyable when it's good. Even if you're stuck in an elevator with the Stradivarius... (7/21/03)

Even Better Than the Reality Thing
Somebody just told me the other day that the big thing these days is reality TV. Apparently there's some show where a bunch of idiots are stuck on an island and they have to do goofy things every week to survive. I told that dope that Omar Bricks... (7/7/03)