April 18, 2009

• Adventures in Dad's Car

  Some of you may know this, but I have an old car. Really old. ("How old is it?") My car is so old that it can legally get a driver's license for itself (rimshot). It's old, but I'm used to it. I'm in complete control and like that. Now, my dad is going on a business trip for the weekend and wants me to look after his car. He seemingly doesn't like leaving it in airport parking. This is a little odd, considering Virginia traffic is basically synonymous with airport parking (rimshot). So now I have his car for the weekend. It's considerably newer than my current car. ("How new is it?") It's so new that things in the back of my refrigerator have seen more sunsets (rimshot). Sadly, this new car has so many new features that my Flintstones-trained driving ability can't comply with. It took me almost fifteen minutes of confounded fiddling to realize that the headlights turned on automatically (rimshot). If you know me, you know I'm a control freak. I don't like all of these automated features. It feels like I'm losing control. I worry for the future where your car will not allow you your free right to drive recklessly (rimshot). Plus, as the greatest sin against freedom, it's an automatic transmission. I say "give me stick shift or give me death." There's a nice dent on the floor now where my left foot continuously crashed down in an effort to depress a nonexistent clutch (rimshot). Hey, thanks a lot. You've been a great audience. Be sure to ask your waiter for the veal. We don't serve veal here, but the waiter doesn't know that, so it should be fun to watch. (hiyooooo!) G'night all!

  

  • 6:25 am
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