Best Flirting Ever!
So I'm sitting at the stop light at the intersection of Glenwood and Aliso Creek with my windows down and "The Distillers" happilly blaring out my speakers when some errant notes and rythym jarringly disturb my reveries. I look out to my right and what do I see but two nice young ladies with their windows down and their speakers happily blaring "Rancid." One has a Debbie Harry bob with a pink streak through her bangs and the other, the one grinning in the passenger seat looks like the girl from Paramore. They rev their engines and now I smile, reving mine back. To quote the lyrics of Cake;
The green light flashes, the flags goes up,
Churning and burning, they yern for the cup.
They deftly manouver and muscle for rank,
Fuel burning fast on an empty tank,
Wreckless and wild they pour through the turns,
Their prowess is potent and secretly stern.
We speed down Aliso Creek zooming past all manner of cars, trucks and yellow lights weaving back and forth, in and out in elegant, rythmic and suggestive figure eights. Our approach is heralded by a merged creshendo of raw, screaming punk rock that quickly redshifts into the distance.
We screech onto Alicia and the high speed tryst continues; octane-powered and frenzied as ever. As we approach my turnout, I decide it may be time to turn this into something more than metaphore. Without slowing down I turn on my signal, cross in front of them and fishtail off the main road, amost hitting the curb and a tree in the process. The last thing I see in my rearview mirror is Paramore blow me a kiss as Debbie Harry rockets them both off into frantic oblivion.
Ah well, still was fun!
The green light flashes, the flags goes up,
Churning and burning, they yern for the cup.
They deftly manouver and muscle for rank,
Fuel burning fast on an empty tank,
Wreckless and wild they pour through the turns,
Their prowess is potent and secretly stern.
We speed down Aliso Creek zooming past all manner of cars, trucks and yellow lights weaving back and forth, in and out in elegant, rythmic and suggestive figure eights. Our approach is heralded by a merged creshendo of raw, screaming punk rock that quickly redshifts into the distance.
We screech onto Alicia and the high speed tryst continues; octane-powered and frenzied as ever. As we approach my turnout, I decide it may be time to turn this into something more than metaphore. Without slowing down I turn on my signal, cross in front of them and fishtail off the main road, amost hitting the curb and a tree in the process. The last thing I see in my rearview mirror is Paramore blow me a kiss as Debbie Harry rockets them both off into frantic oblivion.
Ah well, still was fun!