STALINESQUE LJ PURGE; also, I hate cars
While I was removing some RETARDS who took me off their friends list, I was actually struck by the dichotomy of awesome/terrible that Live Journal has wrought upon the world. The "blog" phenomenon that started about five or six years ago has really warped peoples' perceptions of what is and isn't interesting enough to share with the world at large, leading to more posts about "what I watched on TV today" than are probably needed, but it's also created a pervasive self-contained set of communities in a way that we never would have even speculated about before it happened. It's weird. But I think my favorite innovation made by the rise of the blog is the phenomenon of "friends-list insults" which elicit real feelings of outrage, such as the one I was experiencing when I came to this realization. And that's the lamest thing in the whole world. I hung my head in deep shame.
But I realized that anybody who wanted to remove Our Royal Person from their friends list is a DOUBLE DIRTY DOODIE HEAD. Then I felt better.
Now I will tell you a story.
In Worcester, the worst city in Massachusetts (well, besides Lawrence and Springfield), there is a very sacred summer tradition that we have just celebrated this past holiday weekend, and by "we", of course, I mean "not me". It is called the "Burn-Outs." Or the "Flame-Outs" or the "Burn-Ups" I don't really remember. I just call it "The Flamers", anyway. In any case, it's when all the fans of fire and cars across Central Massachusetts converge on the pit that is Worcester to drag-race and make noise with their pimped out cars and so-forth. It shuts down main street (which I live near) for THREE DAYS with police cordons, and during this time, all you see for three blocks in any direction are olde-tyme cars painted up all shiny and stupid. I want to kill them all.
For one thing, the universal goal of these go-tards seems to be to make 1) the engine as huge as possible and 2) the car as loud as possible. To this end, I have noticed that the most popular thing to do to these cars is cut holes in the hood to allow part of the mammoth engines to poke up, and remove the muffler, to be replaced with four very shiny chrome exhaust pipe thingies. I suspect they also shoot small-caliber arms through the catalytic converter. The upshot here is that ALL of these cars sound like a-10 Thunderbolt fighter jets.
Everybody there is one of the following:
1) White guy with mullet driving a camero with some kind of monstrous mutant engine protruding through the hood and completely obscuring the windshield.
2) Puerto Rican guy with car roughly one millimeter off the road, with six Puerto Rican flags sticking out of it.
3) Black guy with MAGICAL SPRING THINGIES that make the car jump several feet into the air. Also speakers in trunk the size of Lucciano Pavarotti.
4) Asian (AZN) guy with Honda accord, which he has attached like, six spoilers to. And purple neon lights. And maybe a sticker that says HONDA.
I hate the freaking car convention thing. I drive through, in my broken ass little tracker, trying to get home, and it adds like a half hour to the trip. A loud half hour. It makes me cross.
You know, a lot of the time I think about how cool it would be to mount a howitzer on my car somehow. Or Vulcan Cannons.
Or, like, a beam saber.
But I realized that anybody who wanted to remove Our Royal Person from their friends list is a DOUBLE DIRTY DOODIE HEAD. Then I felt better.
Now I will tell you a story.
In Worcester, the worst city in Massachusetts (well, besides Lawrence and Springfield), there is a very sacred summer tradition that we have just celebrated this past holiday weekend, and by "we", of course, I mean "not me". It is called the "Burn-Outs." Or the "Flame-Outs" or the "Burn-Ups" I don't really remember. I just call it "The Flamers", anyway. In any case, it's when all the fans of fire and cars across Central Massachusetts converge on the pit that is Worcester to drag-race and make noise with their pimped out cars and so-forth. It shuts down main street (which I live near) for THREE DAYS with police cordons, and during this time, all you see for three blocks in any direction are olde-tyme cars painted up all shiny and stupid. I want to kill them all.
For one thing, the universal goal of these go-tards seems to be to make 1) the engine as huge as possible and 2) the car as loud as possible. To this end, I have noticed that the most popular thing to do to these cars is cut holes in the hood to allow part of the mammoth engines to poke up, and remove the muffler, to be replaced with four very shiny chrome exhaust pipe thingies. I suspect they also shoot small-caliber arms through the catalytic converter. The upshot here is that ALL of these cars sound like a-10 Thunderbolt fighter jets.
Everybody there is one of the following:
1) White guy with mullet driving a camero with some kind of monstrous mutant engine protruding through the hood and completely obscuring the windshield.
2) Puerto Rican guy with car roughly one millimeter off the road, with six Puerto Rican flags sticking out of it.
3) Black guy with MAGICAL SPRING THINGIES that make the car jump several feet into the air. Also speakers in trunk the size of Lucciano Pavarotti.
4) Asian (AZN) guy with Honda accord, which he has attached like, six spoilers to. And purple neon lights. And maybe a sticker that says HONDA.
I hate the freaking car convention thing. I drive through, in my broken ass little tracker, trying to get home, and it adds like a half hour to the trip. A loud half hour. It makes me cross.
You know, a lot of the time I think about how cool it would be to mount a howitzer on my car somehow. Or Vulcan Cannons.
Or, like, a beam saber.