varrooooooom

So normally my blog posts are event driven, occasionally on a point of topic, and every once in a while a drunk rambling. But rarely are they just a synthesis of things and ideas running through my head. I guess that's cause people aren't really all that synthesisy. If we were, yelling Eureka and By George! would be lame and cliched. So... where was I, ah, synthesis so anyways a bunch of random things relating to cars of some form or another have popped up and have bounced thinking around so now I present, "Pointless Post: How posts without 'a point' have more point than life itself and drive market economies." by Michael Carpenter PhD-eezNutz.

I have to say, I am quite impressed with car companies. My entire life, bear in mind as a child from the 80s aka the box car era *shudder*, I have been dumbfounded by why companies can't make cool cars. For craps sake I drew cooler cars when I was 5 than most cars produced from 79-95. Even post 95 however cars still on a whole sucked and it was beyond me as to why. Why can only ferarri think hey lets put some ducts onthis to make it look fast? Body moldings can't be that expensive to just add an extra curve or two. Well that ofcourse spawned conspiracy theories... why? have I taught you nothing? the question why is always answered by conspiracy theory, it's a corrolary of the old adage 'the most obvious explanation is the most likely'. For example, "why don't I have a harem still?" "antiharem league conspiracy" "why didn't I make the AcDec team?" "MsLongisanevilbitchwhofakesbackpainforhandicapplatesstoopidwhore Foundation conspiracy" "Why did my computer crash?" "computer elf unions conspiracy theory" See? Ok.. so, in the wake of the past 2-3 years I can only assume the "Ugly people of america against being outshined by subthirtythousand autos, you know, UPAABOSA has fallen, the free thinking creativity loving rebel fighters of automaker uppermanagement must have finally over thrown those shadowy-autocrats. Caddillac? Sexy. Pontiac? Sexy. Saturn? hehe no seriously, bear with me here, sexy. Chrysler? (prowler didn't count they took it from plymouth), sexy. Ford? Sexy. Me? Dead Sexy. Chevy... well they can't all be great.

Parking at UTD SUUUUUUUUUUUUUUCKS. Hoover man was found dead in that fountain next to founders&johnson... ofcourse at first everyone just assumed he wandered to close or took a drink and the fountain got him, those dead squirells don't just die in the trees and fall in. But the autopsy revealed something quite darker, quite darker indeed, he was sucked dry. But why? Why would anyone want to kill a Hoover salesman? .... .... ... ahaha sharp as a tack you all are, and you are quite correct my brilliant students! Conspiracy! So much suckage, just imagine if one company could harnest such power. I suspect a DirtDevil henchmen, but it might go all the way to the top of GE. Ah, but fear not fellow 'intheknowians', you know, ITKs because I think The Founders forsaw such evil. Green:"By George men! We have perfected it, the ultimate equation of suckage" Johnson:"Eureeka! It's... it's so beautiful." McDermot:"Aye laddy tis that, but dark too, dark and beautiful. Such a thing au'never fall into the wroooong hands." Green:"He's right... we... we can change it, the suckage will still bemighty, but the true secret of it's power can be hidden..." Johnson:"It is so, upon our lives we swear to hide the secret of the suckage from the weakness that is mortals" Green:"I swear" McDermot:"Oy me too". And so it was that from 7am until 10 pm parking is of the utmost suckage except a small pocket of 3-4:15 before 4 o'clock class when parking is pleasent, cheerful, and secretly protects the universe from evil doers.

When I'm not actually cutting off old ladies trying to continue their education to gank a parking spot, I actually enjoy driving. Hehe, who am I kidding, I enjoy it even more then, gotta get quicker old people! Where.. ah, so I've noticed that I don't really just go drive anymore, and I'd imagine it has something to do with the fact that I don't enjoy driving as much anymore. But wh- Conspiracy, yup, I taught you well. I have had the joy beaten out of me by two sources, that are in fact conspiring. The first is the POPO. Bloody ass clowns have given me so many tickets that the joy of driving has been sucked out of me. The other part ofcourse is the car. It reminds me of Comfortable by John Mayer. I miss the shaggin wagon :( Sure the saturn has AC, no cracked windshields, a paintjob, radio, smiles for pictures that aren't being taken, and swears that she's artsy... but I miss the sheep shag seats, the leapord spotted roof, the ecentric electronics, the ability to do uturns by powersliding, the ability to just spin my car around for no reason at all, grey sweat pants, and no makeup. You know, it was comfortable. I guess you might say broken in... but really I just want her back. Unfortunately we sold her for 200 bucks on her death bed to a mexican fellow and his 9 year old translator. I'll just have to console my self with something insanely fast when I graduate. Then maybe I'll rediscover the love of the road. First stop will be the Beltline500.

And now kids for a story. This is the story of the duck car. Part car, part duck, all mystery. You see, the origins of the duck car are now hidden in time, time and poor resolution of camera phones. You see, it all started one nice spring day when the Rachems, myself, and Thomas (aka Jamas aka Jambi aka theChellanFromAnotherMellon) were having a festive lunch in the small ham of buckingham, purveyors or liquor and icehokey. When all of a sudden the sky turned black, thunderous clashes rang out, and a giant hole in the sky appeared. We rushed outside, was this it? The end of the world? Sure we were ready to die, but that day was not our time. Instead, the sky closed up, the sun shone through, and our eyes fell upon the Duck car. A horrific beauty that burned the retinas and destroyed faith in higherpowers. It was a dark beast for sure. Though no one dare attack it for fear of life and limb, it was most certainly invincible. Its hide was an impenatrable plastic and electrical tape, covered in deadly fins and spikes, and ofcourse all seeing eyes, resting firmly in a mallard's head grafted to the hood, almost certainly sacrificed in the cars creation. It was not long before our time with el coche del ducko came to an end, mostly cause of boredom and a bit of disallusion with camera phones... oh and the liquor store seductively calling our name. Though our time amongst such majesty and such evil was short, nay one of us shall soon forget that day. That is why my ears were a buzz with a call from the Rachem a few weeks prior to this very day about the Duck car resurfacing! But it was new! and improved! It now had spots! And the fins were now bondoed on. Could it be? Even mightier? I was left in a world of doubt for the longest week of my life. It was then that I saw her picking my brother up from band. She was even more beautiful and terrifying than I had remembered. I flogged myself for not thinking ofthis sooner, where else to find a magical car but at a magical place? I should have known to check Pancho's Mexican Buffet months ago. But Why? Why would a car, already so great spontaneously grow even greater? Mmmmmhmmmmm. I'm asking the wrong questions, it's not the why but the when and the where and the WHO! Unfortunately, I don't have this conspiracy figured out yet, which is why in the near future I intend to create a website, a clearing house of information if you will, of all info related to... El Coche Del Ducko. I think I'll call it duckcardallas.org or duckcardoesdallas.org that sounds sexy... but more typing... sexy vs lazy now there's a fight for pay per view. Maybe just elcochedelducko.org. Stay vigilant faithful followers, we will solve the Mystery of the Duck Car. (so help me god though, if it's another crooked real estate developer with a smoke machine and bedsheet.. I think I'll flip)

Notice how it's near perfect camoflage makes the car practicly invisible without photo enhancement?


Let not the pixels fool you, lest ye be it's next prey.


trust no one,
me.