I went to get my car inspected about four months ago because I was due for one like last March right. The dingleberries at the shop failed my car because the turn signals are apparently not the right color.

Not the right color?
Yeah, they gotta be amber, yours are white.
But they flash right? When I push the turn signal lever?
Oh yeah man, it all works. Just need the amber bulbs.
But. But it works. If I was sitting in traffic with my turn signal blinking, no one would miss it, or assume since it's not amber that maybe I was just putting on some kind of low-tech light show. I mean, why fail me right?
-Blank Stare-
That was the way I bought it from the dealer.
Well, if you have the amber bulbs, all you have to do is put them in. You can take them out as soon as the inspection's over for all I care.
So wait. You don't care if it's correct, and even if you know it's going to be incorrect as soon as it gets on the road, you'll still pass me?
Uh, yep.
So why don't you just pass me now, save me the time and effort of having to dismantle and assemble the damn turn signals twice, and we'll just go with that?
Becuase if you get pulled over it's my ass.
But you just said you'd pass me even if you knew it was going to be incorrect as soon as I got the sticker.
How do I know you're not a cop?
Mostly because I don't have a shiny fucking badge on my shirt, but also because if I had a baton I would have beat you retarded with it already. -Walks out-

Posted by: shank at 05:01 PM | Comments (4) | Add Comment
Post contains 300 words, total size 2 kb.

I look funny in my car. I'm a taller guy, but I drive a smaller car.

So when I wear my helmet, I can't really turn my head all that much. But I'm really just trying to illustrate for you how gangly, gawkily large I am in relation to my car.

As you might have assumed, or already know, I like to work on and in my car. I enjoy it, I'm not neccesarily quick or extensively practiced at it, I just know enough to cause some damage.

Today I replaced the rear speakers in the car since they were getting older and starting to sound like ass. I like music almost as much as I like cars, and I love nothing more than listening to it. It's got to be perfect sounding, not neccesarily always in that new crisp digital way though. If I'm listening to something older, maybe recorded live in a jazz club somewhere, I want to hear the place it's being recorded in. Sometimes that means it's not all ones and zeroes, scrubbed clean, or in sharp focus; and a really good system will bring all the important texture out.

So there I am, backseat folded all the way down, front seats pushed all the way up; shoehorned into an area with the cubic footage of a shopping cart. Spacious hey? I mean, I've got big stupid hands with thick knuckled fingers; and I'm in the lotus position or some shit trying to unscrew bolts the size of hairpins. I'm sweating, I got my damn knees up in my face because that's the only way I can get in the car, and I can only turn the fucking socket wrench like 130 degrees at a time because of the angle of the rear glass. At one point, I had to put my feet through the sunroof and lay back with my head reaching into the trunk to just so I could see what the hell I was doing.

Then it struck me. The breeze (remnant of the recent storm) blew my goddamn trunk down, and one of the spindles struck me right in the nose. I let out a yowl, blinded by the sharp poke. It felt like a damn tazer to the shnoz; it was bringing tears to my eyes. I immediatley try to sit up, succeeding only in thumping my head soundly on the bottom of the rear deck. I groan and hit the floor of the trunk, completely hemmed up by the submission hold my car was inflicting on me.

My old boxing coach used to say, "Sometimes you just take a defeat and learn from it. Pain is the best form of negative reinforcement." I say, I bet 10 to 1 that crotchety fuck never got poked in the nose.

Next time, I'm going to find a skilled midget to do this kind of shit. Those tiny bastards have no idea what a blessing that is. Imagine all the shit I could fix if I was their size! And it wouldn't stop at car repairs either. I bet those fuckers can crawl up in a dishwasher and replace shit without ever having to slide the big bastard out from under the counter. I guess it's just all about perspective.

Posted by: shank at 11:17 PM | Comments (4) | Add Comment
Post contains 559 words, total size 3 kb.