1. I heard The Gourds new single, "Escalade" today on the way to work. It's great driving music. Me likey.
This reminds me of something. . .
2. The last time I yelled, "Get your goddamn feet off of the goddamn ceiling!" at the top of my lungs was the night that West Indian hooker got her platforms caught in the torn headliner of my fly Pontiac hoopty. It was something I never thought I'd ever say again. Something I thought I'd take to the grave. But now, I have kids. Kids will make you say the craziest things, and some of these things will flash you back to an unlighted parking lot on Washington Avenue on a cold, cold February night. Not good. Because I think the next thing I said on that night was, "Fucking great, if that thing fell off I'm going to have to cut my dick off." And that's not something you want your four-year-old to repeat in Playschool.
Now I say all sorts of things that non-breeders would find strange. "Don't spit in your brother's shoe.", is one. "Do you want me to tell your mother where I found the cat?", is another. "Hurry up and finish crapping so I can wipe your ass and get back to sleep." is probably the first thing you say that makes you realize just what you've done to your life. Never heard that on Sex In The City.
Look what I found! In '77 they changed the grill, and WE didn't get the mags, but our cousins did, and I was jealous. Can't find any pictures of the '78 Bonneville, so these will have to do. I think our green was darker, but that looks like Mom's Tank to me.
Just so you know. . .
The short one writes the blog