You are currently browsing the category archive for the ‘Auto-erotica’ category.

Viva la gente! Viva la raza! Viva la white girl! (That’s a reference to a Gym Class Heroes song, in case you didn’t know. And I know you didn’t know, so don’t act like you did, punk.) It’s good to be here, writing again, spilling forth of my addled brain the over ripened fruits of knowledge that I possess, so that you may sip of its juices and say “This shit’s past its expiration, Holmes.” Yeah, I roll like this, people.

 It’s been a busy month or so, so much so that I didn’t even realize how long it’s been since I’ve posted anything. That’s mostly because of my high level of suck, but also because of a residual yet potent low level of supplemental suck that picks up where the main sucknicity leaves off. But also, I’ve been running around, trying to get all my affairs in order in regards to that damn accident, getting a vehicle (or “whip”, for you hoodrats like Elle and Scottsdale Princess), advancing my career, and other amazing things like eating and sleeping and watching “Leverage” on TNT. But first and foremost, let’s get it on about my wreck/car situation.

 Firstly, the state of South Carolina can orally cleanse the region between heaven and oblivion in my general taint area. It is utterly ridiculous that it takes THIS LONG to get a vehicle title, especially when we asked so nicely. In SC state government, the word “expedite” is Latin for “I bet this filled-out form would make a great coaster, or maybe even a sweet paper airplane. With landing gear!” Entire scientific studies were thought up, developed, proven, and completed in the amount of time it takes someone in the SC Department of Motor Vehicles to push a much-needed request from the corner of their crumb-infested desk to the inbox of someone who really wanted to be a dancer on Broadway, until they found out that “Fame” was just a good movie and a bad TV show, and all her dreams were dashed like Stacy. After Broken Dreamgirl finally processed our request (for the second time, may I add)  and sent us the title, I had almost forgotten that I previously owned a vehicle. Until I remembered that we needed it to get the money from the insurance company. Then it all came back to me like lost dog on a boomerang. (Look, I don’t know where these analogies come from, either. Even I’m looking at the screen like “Really? Dogs on boomerangs? Lay off the Arizona Iced Tea, son. And the Barq’s.”)

 With a pocket full of cold hard cash, we set out last weekend to get the vehicle of our dreams: a Dodge Grand Caravan or a Chrysler Town & Country, whichever one would bend us over the gentlest when it comes to making payments on it. I know…I’m pimpin’ beyond words now, and your loins burn for me when thinking of me rockin’ a fly minivan. It’s ok, don’t hold back now. Here’s where I have a major beef with car dealerships: if I call you to set up an appointment to see and test drive a specific “pre-owned” vehicle, do me the supreme favor of CALLING ME if you should so happen to SELL THAT AFOREMENTIONED VEHICLE before my pre-arranged appointment, especially if I’m driving CLEAN ACROSS THE DAMN METROPLEX to come see it! This happened multiple times on Saturday, and it was enough to make me wanna not buy a ride at all, until I remembered I’m exactly one step up from Bill Bixby at the end of every “The Incredible Hulk” episode in the 80s. All I was missing was that sad-ass piano music and a pair of pants that stretch and shrink every time I Hulk out, so as to cover my now-enormous and incredibly green penis. Anyway, we finally found a lower cost van that fit our needs, and this is my new baby:

 

My love for white women is confirmed.

My love for white women is confirmed.

 

Ignore the mismatch fence slats in the background. Do you KNOW how much it costs to replace a 6 foot privacy fence? If you do, you’re just nodding your head right now in pure understanding, and for that I thank you. Tangent.

It’s a 2002 Dodge Caravan, minus the Grand. Actually, minus about 4 grand off of what we would’ve paid just to have the word “Grand” appear on the trunk. I’m good with that. Grand or not, this is my new baby, in all her roomy glory. I even have a name for her. Are you ready for this? Are you?

No, you most certainly are not.

Her name…her glorious nomenclature…is…

Vantastic Voyage. I’ll pause while that absorbs in like aloe vera on a curling iron burn.

“Hey, come on, come along, take a ride / There’s a party over here and it ain’t no jive / It’s live, live, all the way live / Don’t even have to walk, you don’t even have to glide / Just slide, slide, slippity slide / And forget about your troubles and your 9 to 5 / And just saaaaaaaaaaaaaaail along (that’s whatcha do, ya just ) saaaaaaaaaaaaaail along!”

And for an extra little kick in the pants, I added some flavor to my new white girl. Check it:

 

All hail.

All hail.

This is Elle’s birfday present to me, prominently and proudly displayed on my rear, so that the whole world knows what I’m down with. I’m down with bacon, people. Bacon is my cause. I am pro-bacon, and I want you to know this. And if you look closely, you can even see a sparkle above the bacon ribbon, as though an angel is saying “Yes…yes, this is glorious and good.” Or it could be the flash from my camera, but either way, it’s significant to me. Ah, my sweet new van; she’s a wooty. I know you can see that she’s an “SE” model, but what you can’t see are the “X” and the “Y” that come right after those letters. Recognize.

Now, I realize that it’s hard to be “cool” or “hip” or “with it” while profilin’ at a stop light in a white late-model minivan with “Support Bacon” on the back, but I gotta say…I pull it off. If you saw me at the corner of Preston Road and Plano Parkway, arm slung across the steering wheel, head tipped back, with some EPMD or Big Daddy Kane pumping out of my system (hey, I love old school rap. Sue me.), you would say to yourself “Now THERE’S a man who radiates confidence and oozes self-assuredness!” 

Or you’d say “Damn, he’s not even close to Cool. If Cool was a map of the Earth, he’d be the pin holding the top left corner up.” Either way, I’m rollin’. And that’s all that matters.

Peace.

Firstly, I want to thank everyone for your kind thoughts and wishes. Seriously, that means a lot to me. I know y’all are my friends, from the heart. No, I am NOT crying! I got some grit in my eye, that’s all. Moving on.

This whole accident thing I had on Monday? It still sucks. Hard. Allow me to fill you in on the most recent version of the aftermath.

– My Jeep is a total loss. State Farm says the estimated damages exceed the value of the Jeep by nearly $3000, so they’re washing their hands of it, and it’s hard to blame them. But DWW and I LOVED that Jeep, and it’s hard to see it go down like this. I know, it’s just a material thing, but it’s been ours for 10 years. It’s like the child that never gets kicked out of daycare, but yet also carries me to work in its belly. OK, that was weird. I have to go clean it out sometime, remove all our possessions. I’ll post pics of the carnage. Heh. Carnage. Puntastic.

-Now, I mentioned that the Jeep is totaled. That means State Farm will give us some money for it so that we can go buy another ride. It’s paid for, so the money we get is just gravy, really. I’m not gonna tell you ALL my financial business, but suffice it to say that the money isn’t enough to run out and buy a Lexus, so we’re looking for affordable “pre-owned” cars. (I hate that term. They’re USED cars. There’s nothing wrong with that word. People used them; ergo, they are used.)

The problem is this: while we’ve registered the Jeep in the state of Texas, we never TITLED it here. It never occurred to us to do that, and it wasn’t required. Hell, I didn’t even KNOW. So when the insurance company told me that I need to give them the title in order to receive the dinero, I called the Texas Dept. of Transportation, who informed me that the Jeep is titled in SC. So I called the South Carolina Dept. of Motor Vehicles, who said I’d have to pay to have it sent to me – but wait! Turns out that they don’t have any record of the payoff! They show that we don’t owe money and that it’s ours, but there’s no explicit statement from the lending company that says “Yeah, it’s theirs, they paid the bitch off in 2003.” And upon calling THAT company, they informed us that they can’t find the actual records of the payoff. They show that it HAPPENED, but can’t locate the details of it. Score. In the meantime, I’m driving a rental that State Farm will stop paying for in one week, and based on how slow state agencies are, combined with the holidays, I probably won’t have a new car to drive until the year 2012.

– And to add injury to insult, I noticed that I had a headache that just wouldn’t go away, no matter what I took for it. When that turned into light sensitivity, I made a doctor’s appointment. I’m not one to mess around with my health – if something’s wrong, I’m ready to pay my copay, baby. His diagnosis? Concussion. Not a bad one, but still. So I’m on anti-inflammatories until Monday, after which if I’m not any better, I’ll have a nice, friendly CAT scan. Good times.

However, I’m not too blind to see how lucky I truly am. It could’ve been much worse, and I’m very thankful to walk away with just a concussion, or just to walk away, period. And even though we now have to troll the want ads looking for a quality “pre-owned” vehicle that won’t put us on Top Ramen and wish sandwiches (that’s where you WISH you had a sandwich to eat) for the next 60 months, at least the new-old ride will have air conditioning and an automatic transmission. Maybe even a CD player that doesn’t spit the CD back at you like a baby eating strained spinach. And if they determine that the accident liability wasn’t mine (and it wasn’t), I’ll get the money back for the deductible, plus my medical expenses. Hmm, maybe my neck hurts too. And my spleen. And my uvula. I better get that checked out.

So although I’m Mr. Doom and Gloom now, I’ll get over it.

Just as soon as I get my damn money. Believe that.

Peace.

(D)archives

Dark Stats

  • 108,138 reasons to read me, baby.
My Amazon.com Wish List

Blog Directory for Dallas, TX

Flickr Photos