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We'll know it's a full-blown midlife crisis when I let the crooked pols drive me out of town, me and the new Prissy on a slow boat to Italy -- or anywhere... but then again, I've fled this town four times already, only to come back defeated and whimpering, each time, and sorely missing my 'Boat.
They say you can't run away from yourself -- and wherever you go, there you are. It's not that I'm an unhappy guy -- I think -- it's just that all this crazy stuff keeps happening here. Prissy getting totalled, twice in a month. Just when I thought I'd died and gone to Heaven. Sometimes I feel like God's voodoo doll. Biblical Job ain't got nuthin' on me. If I ever think about ending it all, I remind myself, that isn't my call. I keep surviving the disasters. God's got a Plan for me; I must not have pissed off enough people yet.
Jeff -- I have no patience. So every time I picked up a stringed instrument, my chords always had one flat string -- and rather than work through it, build up the callouses, I dropped it and went back to my book, bike, or stereo. So a tip of the hat for having the patience to learn it.
What crisis? This is my reward for years of hard labor, no sponsors, all on my dime, no support either, nobody I could call to bail me out, and I had some weird problems. Often I wondered if it would ever make a dime; I just wanted to throw it in the river.
I'm just lucky no woman ever fell for my line, for too long anyway. Otherwise I'd be worried about glasses, braces, report cards, tuition... I have avoided responsibility at every turn in my life, just so I could reward myself with Prissy.
I can't describe the elation, when the town was in the memory, the highway winding ahead -- this beautiful, powerful, precise machine, purring beneath you, responding to your every command... I had died and been born again; Heaven itself can't be much better.
I ruled out the Honda. Porsche. There is no substitute.
I've said it before: At 87, my own mother could do a better job of managing this city. If she's got fresh batteries in her hearing aids. And in between her naps. She's done it before.
Of course, she's not a crook, so before long she'd be butting heads with the powers that really be in these parts, and I'm afraid she'd come out worse for the wear. Did I mention she's a volunteer cop now? Everything but the gun. She can sniff out the crooks, real fast.
And if I really knew what I was talking about, I would have shut up a while back.
Scott -- They can't do anything. She's their boss!! They're her rubber stamp. They wouldn't dare fire her. Then she'd get really mad, overrule their action, and heads would roll, believe you me. She just ensured a more tight-fisted grasp on her private kingdom. There's a strong undercurrent in this town, and that's all I dare say in this forum. I really don't know nuthin'.
Thanks Jeff. I was worried. I thought it was all about me. I'm narcisstic in that way.
If love were my top priority, I could do better than to plunk myself down in this chick-starved cow town.
The French have a saying: "The difference between a man of 50 and a man of 70 is 20 years of experience."
I need to get back to the Old World.
Inadequacy? Huh. Try several. Wasn't it Dirt Harry who said "You're a good man, Briggs. A good man knows his limitations."
I have no illusions; this car won't find me love. I'm buying this for ME. I bonded with Prissy in a short time, and I anticipate a repeat performance.
And I must admit, there were numerous times, we were having fun in the curves, and I was glad the other seat was empty, nobody shrieking "SLOW DOWN!!"
Jeff -- Nothing shrunk, functional as ever. Problem is, girls walked out on my act some time back. I guess I'm too old for sex. At least among the crowd I chase, in the mid-30's range. Anybody who would have anything to do with me is downright scary.
There isn't a car pretty enough to get me laid. Did I mention, I have no personality either?
The car can't say no -- and they just keep going, and going, every mile a pleasure, they melt away. You arrive more refreshed than when you left.
It's a simple pleasure, no? God knows I worked long enough for it.
I'm shooting for a little Honda next time, and I'm going to paint it yellow, so everybody can see it. See ya 'round!!
I guess renters can't be complainers -- not that the heavy toll at the till isn't robbery already. It's unlikely I'll ever be able to own in this valley anyway, steep as prices are. I wouldn't be happy subsidizing the mess anyway. Lucky for me, I know another little town, even prettier than this one, milder climate, and apparently straight-shooting local government. Real estate is a third to a quarter of this town. My next little car is going to have a big trunk.
We're throwing roundhouses now. Things is bad. There's danger around every corner. The godless infidels want to take my land. And you think I'M a problem?
"You think I'm bad? Look at that guy!! Me big man. Smart too."
You should stick to guns, Mark. You shoot yourself with your own words.
Last login: Sunday, July 26, 2015
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