Last night I was in Utah County for reasons I'd rather not discuss. I ditched my car at BYU-approved housing and headed toward the exceptionally pretty mountains. Four hours later I return to find a boot on my Corolla, which previously managed to visit thirty-two states, two oceans, five great lakes, and one Chuck E. Cheese Pizza Parlor unmolested.
I call the bastards so I can be free of Utah County, but two hours pass. I spend time admiring the beer bottles surprisingly strewn along the BYU student lot. I light one cigarette-fuse-delayed ground bloom flower. I pluck a wild sunflower while contemplating Cool Hand Luke and his vandalism of municipal property.
Finally, a tow truck shows up to release the boot for $50. The only place I've ever paid $50 for a parking penalty was San Francisco. Provo, Utah is no damn San Francisco.
Therefore, I've decided to unilaterally declare war on Provo and its residents. So-called allies caught giving aid and comfort to the enemy will face harsh sanctions including (but not limited to) my refusal to pick up checks at Dee's Family Restaurant. All further questions may be addressed to the
16 Military Wives music video. Thank you, and God save Anti-vo.