Monday, October 17, 2011

Zuccotti Park Spirit Hits Home

So, Saturday. I'm driving. I roll casually down Sunrise Highway, through a mainly residential area with some strip malls. I got the windows down, the radio on, and I'm feelin' okay about my weekend. At a corner, something rolling down the sidestreet catches my eye and yanks it straight out of the damn socket. It's an SUV.

Not just any SUV, mind you.

It has the width and height of an SUV, but has been expanded to the size of a freakin' stretch limo. As in, I count seven sets of windows on the side. All tinted black, of course. And the paint job?


Not just any pink, either. Bright pink. Hot pink. Pink pink. We're talking about the single most penis-like vehicle you could possibly imagine.

Here I am, ambling merrily along in a tough, reliable, salt-of-the-earth Grey '94 Ford Taurus that keeps on keepin' on despite muffler trouble and crushed rear-end that I don't have the money to fix. And here's this rich-as-fuck whoever-he-is waving his dick-mobile around on a public street. I grip the steering wheel with the full force of my underemployed starving-artist rage. I have half a mind to swerve and nail that sucker right in front of the rear doors, but who am I kidding? Wang-on-wheels probably has a frickin' titanium frame for extra hardness. My proud silver bull would wind up looking like an accordion. That, or I'd tear straight through the damn thing and realize "WTF? This is paper mache!"

Hey, luxury car manufacturers have to cut costs too.

So I just drive on, settling for a finger-gun drive-by as I pass him. In retrospect, I'm not really thinking "rich fuck", or even "rich fuck's spoiled brat." I'm thinking "rap star needing a sweet car for a video shoot". Dude? Your music sucks and is not relevant to today's youth. Have a dose of real 99% music:

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