I have re-written the journal entry below. Too much rambling and not enough grammar. I was rambling like the old George W.
You know, before ”what happened.” I was at Expo, a
high-end home appliances & goodies store, signing me up for their Expo Credit Card. Almost done with my 2001 Buying Binge, I was purchasing a Fisher Kaypal
dishwasher. This puppy is actually two dishwashers configured like drawers that can run independently of each other. It takes up the same amount of space as a normal
dishwasher. So, anyway, I was signing up for credit there and they instantly gave me a $750 credit limit… at which I remarked, ”Is that all?”
The guy signing me up said that everyone was being given this low limit ever since ”what happened.” Funny how we don’t have to bother saying ”what happened” specifically.
I’ve been able to do this myself in the past. For example, whenever I refer to fracturing my ankles. ”I can’t really jog anymore, you know, after what happened.” ”I can’t really clean
up the house, you know, after what happened.” ”I can’t be a famous porn star anymore, you know, after what happened.” Poor Ron Jeremy (pictured below left). I hope he gets over it.
Ron Jeremy: ”What do you mean you don’t want to make movies anymore? Aren’t the female stars pretty enough for you?”
Me: ”I’m sorry, Ron. I need time to heal. The movies will go on without me.”
Ron Jeremy: ”But what am I going to do? This is gonna be like when John Holmes died, only worse.”
Me: ”Yeah, I know. Oh well. You and the girls will have to find someone else to be in your movies.”
Ron Jeremy: ”Nooooooo!”
The airport today was extremely crowded. Looks like the American public is wising up that if they don’t fly, they’re still gonna have to indirectly save the airlines now
that the 15 billion dollar bail-out was approved by the president. What? Did you think they were just gonna print some money and say, ”Here you go. 15 Billion Dollars.
Have a nice day.” Nuh uh! We’re paying for that. Judging by how busy the airport is, however, they may not need all 15 billion. Maybe just 2 or 3 billion. What a bargain.
I again got stuck as The Middle Guy on the flight up. That sucks. I treated myself to an upgrade to business class to counteract the icky effects of being sandwiched between
two dudes for two hours. Why am I NEVER sandwiched between two beautiful female passengers? Conspiracy! And these two dudes were idiots, too.
Idiot On My Right: ”Duh, look, huh, huh, there’s smoke coming out of the air vents.”
Me: ”That’s condensation, not smoke.”
Idiot On My Right: ”Oh, yeah, I knew that. I was just joking with ya. Huh, huh.”
Me: ”Riiiiight.”
On Saturday one of my errands was to push the DeLorean to the gas station. I had to do this because the car is very stubborn and won’t start if I have less than half a
tank of gas. Isn’t that nice? For some reason I forgot that the DeLorean weights 3100 pounds. That’s really heavy.
I was moaning in pain after having pushed the car about 200 feet when two people at the storage place saw me and were like,
”Dude! That’s a DeLorean! Let’s go help him push it!” They told me it was ”an honor to push such a cool car.” Riiight. Keep pushing!
I offered free cokes after we pulled into the Chevron, but they declined. As they walked off I could hear one of them go, ”Dude, we just pushed a real DeLorean.” Riiight.
I filled the tank up with high octane
gas and two hits of STP carb cleaner and gas cleaner. I plan to get the car inspected next weekend and the increased octane should allow me to slip by with a passing
grade. I got this tip thanks to an auto mechanic chick at the Wal-Mart a few weeks ago. The car started up, but drives like crap when it’s on high octane gas.
I can imagine that if the car could speak it would be saying something like, ”Hey, where’s my octane, b*tch?!”
On Sunday I drove the Batmobile Corvette conversion around. I need to spend a couple of hours going over the car to find all the little problems
it has that the seller didn’t bother telling me about. For example, the windshield wipers don’t work. The car leaks transmission fluid like it’s trying to paint the road red.
A serious tune-up is order. One of the hubcaps is missing which SUCKS. Bastard shipping dudes. I’ll bet one of them took the hubcap off. Need to check eBay to make sure
someone isn’t trying to sell it.
I am going to transfer the title over and keep the state registration up to date, but I am going to wait until January before I get the car inspected. You
see, in January the car will be 24 years old, and I am no longer bound by Texas Law to adhere to the stringent emissions standards that we must all comply with.
I just had my Mistubishi inspected on Saturday, as a matter of fact. It passed with flying colors. I love that car. It’s paid off, too. That kicks ass. Anyway, back to the Batmobile.
I drove it to the grocery store and bought some Rain-X just in case I don’t get the wiper glades fixed anytime soon.
People in the parking lot couldn’t freaking believe my car and just descended upon me like I was a total freak.
Of course, I am a total freak, so this seemed normal to me. The Batmobile got about five times the amount of gawkers that I normally get with
the DeLorean. By the way, to anyone reading this, I will be making an appearance with the DeLorean at Trader’s Village in Northwest Houston, Highway 290,
on October 12th, 2001. I plan to set up a table with my computer and a printer, hopefully selling digital pictures of people sitting in the DeLorean. I am almost thinking
I should use the Batmobile instead. Money is good.
Two quarts of transmission fluid and I bet I can get the Batmobile there. And if anyone asks about why there is no inspection sticker? Oh, that. Yeah. Well, they don’t have
inspection stickers in Gotham City, okay? Don’t you know anything?
