Surge

I drive the biggest damn car I can find. My 1971 Ford Galaxy 500 with a 351 Cleveland two barrel V-8 is what I drive right now. It is pistachio with a white top and lovely green interior. The exhaust manfold is cracked to make it roar beyond belief. The car loves to drive about 75-80, and so do I. The seat belts broke a long time ago. We call her Minty.

Before Minty, I drove an '84 Lincoln Town Car (Greeny); before that, an '84 Old's Delta 88 Supreme (Col. Cho), a '76 Chevy Impala for a while (Shamu), and even a '73 Buick Deuce & 1/4 (Shaft). My dream is to find a '68 Crysler New Yorker, the largest car ever made (19'6").

Is my penis small? Ask your mamma.

When I am making my way through town the looks on the faces of other drivers in all sizes of vehicles (built as strong as styrofoam coffee cups) can only be described as shock and awe. Do I intend to instill fear in others? No, it is merely preferable for the natural man to ride in the American wide body with its attendent comforts. Plus, isn't it better to recycle?

My reason for mentioning this is because the government is thinking all wrong in sending Humvees for our fighting men. Rather, I think they should be driven in '73 Cadilac El Durados, which are already heavily armored. The massive smoke trail these vehicles emit would disorient any trailing bad guys. A full squad could ride in the trunk, and a 50 caliber machine gun would mount nicely in the drink holder.

Furthermore, imagine a phalange of black '49 Ford Coupes roll up to the curb in a cloud of dust like California Highway Patrol, and a sweaty, wheezing Brodrick Crawford climbs out and pistol whips the first punk he sees with his 38 snub nose. How do you like that smart guy?