Tarnation! Back in my day, only a select few had these "auto-mobiles." These included the mayor, the local judge, and the prostitute who lived down the lane. I recall one balmy summmer noon at the racetrack, which in those days was a mud puddle and a box of crayons. A man approached me and said "Son, how would you like to make a dime?"
A dime?! Golly whiz! That's a fortune! I quickly agreed, after biting said dime to make sure it wasn't plugged, which in those days meant "made from arsenic." He then told me that I was to race that very day. Well, I was some excited let me tell you! There hadn't been an event this big since Ma had her bowels plugged up tight and the locals came to help! I sat down in the car, an '02 Winchester Special Edition Custom Class. Let me tell you, I could hardly contain my excitement. In fact, I couldn't, and I soiled the seat quite thoroughly. Bang! The race was on, and I hit the fuel intake! The automobile sped off at a blazing twenty-five miles for the hour! The wind whipped through my hair as I raced along, splashing up mud and fuel-boys who hadn't gotten out of the way in time. I glanced at the "Speedo-Meter" and saw I was approaching thirty miles for the hour!! Only God in Heaven and President Roosevelt knew what could happen next. I glanced around and saw the competition was gaining fast. The prostitute was a mere kilometer behind me, having been unable to crank her car. The mayor and I were neck and neck, and he was brandishing what looked like a screwdriver and was cackling evilly, whilst twirling his moustaches and doffing his black top hat! Mwhahahah! Mwhahahah!
Quickly, I realized something was wrong. My seat was becoming jarred loose, possibly from the lubrication it had received earlier. It suddenly sprang free, and I was ejected out! In fact, to this very day people say I flew higher than Orville Wright himself. Well, they would say that if all of my friends weren't six feet underground!
A dime?! Golly whiz! That's a fortune! I quickly agreed, after biting said dime to make sure it wasn't plugged, which in those days meant "made from arsenic."
He then told me that I was to race that very day. Well, I was some excited let me tell you! There hadn't been an event this big since Ma had her bowels plugged up tight and the locals came to help!
I sat down in the car, an '02 Winchester Special Edition Custom Class. Let me tell you, I could hardly contain my excitement. In fact, I couldn't, and I soiled the seat quite thoroughly. Bang! The race was on, and I hit the fuel intake! The automobile sped off at a blazing twenty-five miles for the hour! The wind whipped through my hair as I raced along, splashing up mud and fuel-boys who hadn't gotten out of the way in time. I glanced at the "Speedo-Meter" and saw I was approaching thirty miles for the hour!! Only God in Heaven and President Roosevelt knew what could happen next.
I glanced around and saw the competition was gaining fast. The prostitute was a mere kilometer behind me, having been unable to crank her car. The mayor and I were neck and neck, and he was brandishing what looked like a screwdriver and was cackling evilly, whilst twirling his moustaches and doffing his black top hat! Mwhahahah! Mwhahahah!
Quickly, I realized something was wrong. My seat was becoming jarred loose, possibly from the lubrication it had received earlier. It suddenly sprang free, and I was ejected out! In fact, to this very day people say I flew higher than Orville Wright himself. Well, they would say that if all of my friends weren't six feet underground!
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