Saturday, December 13, 2014

SHIT. NOT AGAIN.


Lordy Lordy. No sooner do I happily get rid of the disgusting, unsightly Clemson van parked next door then boom. I now have a truck in it's stead, parked in the driveway of my idiot neighbor. What the hell is WITH this guy?? You can only iMAGine my reaction when I saw it coming down the street only to now have to stare out my bedroom window and see it forever. Plus... you should HEAR this thing. Think: sputtering. How it even runs I have no clue and frankly... I don't think it runs at all, given the amount of time the guy spends outside, trying to make it work.

So look. I've been in a family of cars for years and years and years beginning with my Dad and brother drag racing every weekend at the local race track in Miami. Wanna talk trophies? Don't even ask. Then they had a hard core dragster that some guy used to race for them. Then they even rebuilt some sort of '57 Chevy station wagon that was MAJOR fast and they raced with that, too.

Oh yeah. When my brother made his own bucks I remember sitting next to him, as he drove around plenty in everything from a Corvette to a Rolls Royce. Ferrari's, and Lamborghini's, too. And... everything in between. Which totally reminds me of...

When I was 16 years old and Bob was 21. He had his first Corvette who's engine you could hear from what seemed like miles away thus it was pretty damn easy to hear him coming up the driveway, pretty much below my bedroom window. Expect the one f'ing time when he got home, apparently without my hearing the engine, and he came up the stairs to our bedrooms and boom. HE CAUGHT ME SMOKING. What??? All of sudden his car is as quiet as a mouse? So quiet that I didn't hear him in time to quickly stash away my evil sin? Jesus. Don't ask. All I know is: thanks to Bob, my parents weren't particularly thrilled to learn I was into smokes. Regardless of the fact I stole the cigs from where else? Their OWN stash! But whatever. In the meantime...


Back to the eyesore. Basically... so yes. I'm not new to old cars. In fact once my Dad retired he even had a warehouse slash showroom slash garage of GRANDPA'S OLD CARS in which he collected and/or refurbished and/or rebuilt vintage cars from the 20's, 30s and 40s. Even earlier, maybe. Who cares. What I DO care about is this piece of crapola now sitting in the driveway next to me. The driveway that is apparently going to be the garage mechanic's work place. The mechanic of course being the neighbor himself. I mean seriously. If you ARE going to be a car buff... get a place to store it! And to work on it! Just don't make me stare at your stupid ugly cars/trucks right outside my otherwise stunning house and window! 

Besides, I hate this guy anyway, but that's a whole other story onto itself. I can't imagine his keeping it the color it is now but trust me... I shudder to think what it COULD be when all is said and done. If it turns out to be another homage to Clemson I'll shoot myself altogether. 


Oh yeah... as if I don't have enough to bitch about... get this. Now not only does he have this truck in the driveway but now, also a big sign of how Jesus is the Season. Or something like that. Are you kidding me?? I have to now live next to a church, too?? Because basically... I just have to tell you that for me personally, Jesus plays no big part whatsoever in my particular holiday season celebrations. Which kinda means: the entire deal is up for debate if you ask me. Anyway... 

I now have to figure out exactly how I'm going to approach this entire topic at the neighborhood Christmas Open House party next Sunday. I am totally praying he doesn't show up. But of course he will. Maybe even in the friggin' truck. Damnit. 



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