No Need to Check That List Twice

December 22, 2003

Well, I'll give you three guesses as to what Omar Bricks wants for Christmas this year, with the added bonus that I get to kick you in the ass if you're wrong. Because that means you're either stupid or haven't been reading my column for the last eight months. And even if you're just trying to be funny by saying shit like "a boob job" or "world peace," come on man, I'm giving you three guesses here.

It should come as no surprise to those of you out there who respond to external stimuli that a new car is way at the top of the Omar Bricks wish list this holiday season. Yes, even higher than a gas-powered man kite or a money-winning horse like that Seabiscuit. Sweet as those both would be, and even sweeter in combination, a new car has to be Christmas Priority #1. Besides, I didn't get either of those other things last year and I prefer to maintain exclusivity when it comes to the gifts I request: If you didn't get me what I wanted last year, you missed your chance, Bud. Sucks to be you, but I have my pride to consider.

So this year it's all about the car. And possibly car-themed accessories like a ball-ratting stereo system or some stylish naugahyde seat covers. Or some skiis. Basically, if it fits in the car somehow, I'll take it.

But the main part of the present had better be a car, because if end up with a shitload of fuzzy dice and hula girl statues and crap with no car to put them in, I'm pretty sure I'll be pissed. The smart money's on some Bricks rage in that scenario. Not to be an ungrateful giftee or anything, but come on. That's just bullshit. Half that crap has no use outside of an automobile, unless I take a sewing class so I can turn a set of naugahyde seat covers into some kind of bizarre Buffalo Bill couch cover or some disturbing shit like that. And then I'd need to redo the whole house with a Silence of the Lambs theme just to make the couch match, which sounds like a lot of work and a waste of all the carnival mirrors I bought last week.

And just so I can cover all my bases this year, let me make it clear that I consider the gag gifting of any kind of little matchbox or other toy car to be grounds for serious retaliation, as that shit's neither funny nor useful, and that's seventy-five cents you could have put toward some very small fraction of a car I could actually drive. Use your brains here, people: pool your resources. Hold a walkathon or something, I don't give a shit. I'll even submit a decent photo to have printed up on the t-shirts, that's how far I'm willing to go to make this happen. I don't imagine there are many charitable mugs out there who could look at a picture of Omar Bricks throwing eggs at the president and deny that this man needs a car. Me, not the president. I'm not sure if the president owns his own car or not, but he seems to get around okay. You never see him pushing a little kid off his bike when he's late to work in the morning, that's all I'm saying.

As for what kind of car, be creative. Unless your idea of "creative" means cheap and shitty, in that case don't be creative. Forget I said that. Think of it as if you were buying yourself a car, only imagine that you like yourself more than you do, and money's no object. That should work. And if you like Volvos, fuck off. You shouldn't be involved in this process at all; I don't want you skewing my car gift with your bad taste and questionable judgment.

You can get me a radar detector or something. Pretty hard to fuck that up. Thanks.

Bricks out.

Quote of the Day

“Don't run if you can walk. Don't walk if you can stand. Don't stand if you can sit. Don't sit if you can lie down. Don't like down if you can sleep. Don't sleep if you can be put into a medically induced coma. Don't be put into a medically induced coma if you can kick back in an iron lung and have machines shit for you. Don't do any of that if golf is on TV.”

-Lazy Larry Lisbaine

Fortune 500 Cookie

You're gonna die this week. Sorry we couldn't put a more clever spin on that. In the meantime, try pouring sugar on your cereal instead of milk. Fuck it, what's anybody gonna do about it now? If it's any consolation, almost everyone in the world doesn't know you're alive anyway. This week's lucky coffin models: Dirt Rocket III, Econo-Sarcophagus Jr, The Spruce Moose, Office Max Moving Box Model 223117, The Bobsled to Hell, Spring-Loaded Jokester's Delight, Seventh Generation Biodegradable Grandma Sack, foot locker in your ex-boyfriend's closet.

Try again later.

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4.	"These tattoos? Aryan Brotherhood."
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