Planes, Trains, and Automobiles
The real title:
Planes, Trains, and Automobiles
There is a certain nagging behind this blog. It is in high demand by low people. Or is it in low demand by high people? I vote for both. In any case I have been urged to continue documenting the grandiose spectacle that is my percipience. Often, in my self-doubting state of mind, I have come to the realization that my ideas may be enervated. There are even those who cannot be pleased with the plethora of wonders that I have already contributed to this earthly domain and so I have taken upon myself to satisfy ones urge, at least in one aspect of life, at this very moment. I am here to prove that I am still capable. So sit down, enjoy an icy beverage on a cold day and let me titillate your brain from its prefrontal cortex down to its medulla oblongata.
I’ve have grown erect and cum through. I suppose a better way of phrasing that would be: I have risen to the occasion and completed my undergraduate work at Sacramento State University. It has been four and a half years since I began this junket, and a junket it has been. This does not pertain to what I will be discussing in this blog, but I wanted, nay, needed to bring it up so that all those who gaze upon my extravagance will know. I have my bachelors in History…Yay. Or to add comedic humor and emphasis to the subject matter at hand…Fuck Yay.
Watson is what I named my laptop. I name everything. After I am done using Watson I place him on a stand. I call it Stan the stand. Original; I know. After which, Watson, with his inner heated combustion, makes Stan hot. It is not what you think though. The relationship is purely platonic and symbiotic; I can’t say the same about Felipe the phone charger and Alberta the outlet. Talk about some intense double pronged action…
On my way to work today I started to think about cars. Let me first inform you that my knowledge of cars is unwaveringly inferior to many. And by many, I mean most. So allow me to shine some light on the matter that matters. Windows. All cars have windows. Well, all street legal cars have windows. On several cars the side windows have a main front piece and a small wing or panel. I understand at one point back when dinosaurs lived in shoes…Wait, that is a current situation, but is another story all to itself…Let’s say somewhere before shoe dinosaurs and somewhere after the creation of the Model-T (Model-K sounds better, but I guess I could see why not. Put three of those on the road and one could pave the road black. o-u-c-h-i-e…Poor joke. I know.) these side window wings provided an air vent of some sort. But in examining my own 1997 car I have tried to establish its purpose. There is only one possible explanation for such maddening techniques. Burglary. When someone breaks into a car, and they do not possess the quick pick lock skill set, they bust windows. Instead of busting the entire window, they just smash that wing piece and have easy access to the car’s interior accessories. So my theory on it is that people are essentially saying, “Be kind burglar, break my small window.” Being that America is a capitalistic beast, those side windows are being removed and people are going to have to replace entire windows. Can someone say money, money, money, money…money! (NOTE: If the smaller window is more expensive capitalism will have prevailed early on. Also, my theory will be mute.) Now personally, if I am going to be taking out windows, I am going big. The purpose of a window initially is to shield. I’m taking out the biggest shielder of wind they have. Front windshield. Or maybe I would put little chips all throughout their windows and leave a Woody the Woodpecker toy. Then the next morning when they walk out to their car it will be like, “THIS IS MADDN…Oh a Woody the Woodpecker…ESS!” Hilarity ensues.
Okay; so you know how I was going on about titillating your brain teats? Forget it. I have taken an idea that I did not even deem Facebook worthy, scratch that, Twitter worthy and expanded it into a blog. The result: A sensational attempt at a mediocre idea. Perhaps I need to commit myself to saving my ideas for a more ostentatious display. Perhaps I need to not write after completing my last final and give my mind the proper recoup period. Perhaps I do need a muse. Perhaps, possibly, maybe…I hear these terms a lot. They are shades of gray. I suppose if that is ones favorite color, then that is a comfortable place to be. As with my writing. I’ll robot hamster it out.
Now and forever more; I do what I do when I do what I do.