Merp Merp

I drive my dad’s old ‘99 Buick Century. It’s gold. That makes it look expensive.

Dad thinks it’s a bitchin’ ride.

His words, not mine.

All I can think of is the fact that every time I pass another gold ’99 Buick Century, I see a tiny old blue-haired woman peeking over the steering wheel. Every single time, people, without fail.

The other day I pulled up alongside another Buick at a stoplight. For some reason I felt like this would be my lucky day and there would be maybe a young man with blue hair inside instead of an old woman with blue hair. When I peered over, however, I saw literally the oldest man I think I have ever laid eyes on.

Drat.

I considered revving my engine, flicking him off, and peeling out when the light turned green, leaving him cursing and shaking his fist in the cloud of smoke I left behind. I abstained, but I definitely made sure to accelerate faster just in case anyone was looking.

I don’t find it prudent to listen to Z93 (“today’s best music – WIZM-FM La Crosse”) in this boat made for the ground. Nor do I find it fitting to use iTrip with my iPod. (I call it the “BriPod”…a friend of mine also named Brian calls it that. If you’re listening, Brian, KUDOS.) The only appropriate music-listening resource I’ve found is 102.7—the greatest hits of all time—playing oldies from the 60s, 70s, and 80s. I roll down the windows, crank up that retro tunage, lean back in my chair, and roll on down the street.  Maybe I’ll even honk the horn a few times. It doesn’t go beep beep like regular horns, though; it’s more like merp merp. 

B.A. That’s all I have to say.