Tricked Out Cars

11 08 2008

I was recently telling a buddy of mine that I’m thinking about heading to California for a few days, at which point he immediately reminded me that I would be assaulted without end by one of the things I hate more than just about anything on the whole entire planet: Tricked Out Cars.

Tricked out cars, like most things I hate, don’t piss me off for conventional reasons. I don’t hate them because I’m ‘hating’. I don’t hate them because the men (and a few cock-envying women) that drive them tend to be pompous douchebags.

I hate them because they are a constant reminder of the fact that people make shitty decisions, and they are still allowed the same number of votes that I am.

Tricking out your car can start with one of two items – your wheels, or your sound system. Where you start depends on which gender of impressionable fucktard you’re most interested in wowing with your irresponsible spending habits that you’ve adopted, quite ironically, to mask an utter lack of personality*.

Wheels (rims) tend to be more expensive but are easier to install and are more noticeable to impressionable female idiots. This is a good place to start if you have a lot of money but don’t have a clue. Sound systems aren’t quite as expensive as rims, but are far more complicated to install and, if installed correctly, present an intimidation factor that wows impressionable male idiots.

Figure 1: Can you get silicosis from your own tits?

After you’ve poured anywhere between $10K – $20K into your depreciating asset and augmented the #1 macro-level cause of black and brown people in this country not having a goddamn motherfucking dime to their names with which to combat what seems to be an increasingly correct perception among the general public that black and brown twenty-something males are, without a doubt, the most uncompromising, ferocious, and proactive bringers of self-destruction on the face of this fucked up planet…you’re ready to move on to paint.

Lots of guys prefer to go with flame or fire designs, because it lets you use just one symbol to make two statements: 1.) I have a fast car, and 2.) I am a homosexual. If you’re not (completely) gay, you can go with some kind of neon glitter paint design, a bi/tri color sport design like in Figure 1, or some insanely intricate portrait/tribal-tatoo/asian calligraphy design. Either way, be prepared to shell out an additional $1K – $5K for your paint depending on the complexity of the design and reputation of the artist.

Figure 2: You can avoid looking like a queer if your car looks like it was involved in a 30’s mob war

At this point, you’re at a fork in the road that gives you two ways to extend your automotive bender of stupidity. You can either go the Gran Turismo route and try to make your car as fast as possible, or you can go the purely aesthetic route and start adding unnecessary accessories.

The Gran Turismo route is the way to impress guys. The easiest way to tune your car for racing is to buy a stronger clutch, get a lighter flywheel, upgrade the exhaust, install a turbocharger (or, if you like spending money for no reason – and of course you do – a supercharger) and NOS canisters, tack on a boost controller, install carbon fiber paneling, get some kind of engine-regulating chip thrown in, buy tires and a new suspension that can handle the speed, and then apologize to your father for being born.

You’ve just spent $30,000 to make a 1997 Honda Civic do 0-60 in 5 seconds when you could have used the same amount of cash (plus the $10K – $25K you spent on rims, stereo, and paint) on a late model S4, M3, or Z06 and had time left over to make more money, work on your personality, and otherwise not be an idiot. Oh well.

Once you’ve done all this, you can spend Friday night at the oversized parking lot in a Taco Bell or gas station where two dozen other douches park their cars and rev their engines for no damn reason. When chicks approach, you can tell them what you did to your car and they’ll think you’re awesome because they have no idea what the fuck you’re talking about. I’m not even being sarcastic at this point. There is at least one girl reading this blog right now sporting a newly moistened vagina because the last paragraph would seem to indicate that I know what the hell I’m talking about. Jesus Tapdancing Christ.

Figure 3: No matter what you do, at the end of the day it’s still a fucking Civic

The purely aesthetic route is that taken by people who want to spend less money but still create the illusion of speed. There are a number of ways to do this: install fog lights, paint your calipers red, put stickers all the fuck over your windshield, add undercarriage and/or interior glow lighting (add a blacklight if you want to be able to see the semen spit out by the chicks who are actually addicted to enough coke to suck your lumber in your car), get your seats reupholstered with ‘illegal leoparrrrrrrd’ (hispanics only), install a rear spoiler on your front wheel drive car (you stupid sonofabitch), install useless body paneling and fake intakes, add brightly colored engine hoses and chromed engine components, tint the windows, and replace the steering wheel with a low-diameter ‘rally’ wheel.

Once you’ve done all this, go out and snag yourself a chick, then bask in your own hypocrisy when you find out she has fake hair, fake fingernails, fake eyelashes, fake color contacts, caps on her teeth, spray-on tan, fake tits, empire waist top hiding her gut, and bad credit…and you have the nerve to get upset at her when you’re doing the EXACT SAME THING.

* It’s ironic because a unique car is supposed to achieve one of three things: a.) make you appear to have unique personality and moxie, b.) make you appear wealthy, or c.) both**. People targeting goal A, however, never have personality. If they did, they wouldn’t need the fucking car.

** There is a tiny minority population of guys who trick out their cars because that’s just what they love to do. These cats I have no problem with.


15 07 2008

I just love a nice maddening experience at the goddamn airport. I love the airport because, like most people, I don’t want to live forever and I’m on a perpetual hunt for ways to hasten my inevitable doom without having to pull the trigger personally.

Figure 1: Are you ready to get mad?

Fun at the airport starts when you arrive at the check-in counter. This part is the most enjoyable of the entire experience because you get to pick your poison:

  • E-Check-In: there are dozens of little booths that let you punch in a confirmation number, scan a passport, or use some other means for the computer to look up your flight and either a.) print out your tickets and send you on your way, or b.) tell you that your motherfucking flight has been canceled for no goddamn reason, so you can go stand your monkey ass in line with all the people who are doing…
  • Standard Check-In: this is a line full of people who are trying to figure out why the hell their flights are canceled, people who can’t fly anywhere without taking everything they’ve ever owned with them, or people who fit neither criteria and are too dumb to realize that you can just use E-Check-In. In other words, the Standard Check-In line, which is always at least 5 nautical miles long, is filled with people who are angry, high-maintenance, or just downright retarded.

Figure 2: Hopeless

Next we make our way to the security checkpoint which is the greatest harbinger of impending American macro-level failure you will ever find anywhere outside of West Virginia (unless, of course, you’re actually in an airport in West Virginia – which you’re about as likely to find as a psych ward in an animal hospital).

If you’ve ever wanted a front row seat to human stupidity, you can use the 40 – 60 minutes you’ll spend in the security line observing the behavior of both passengers and TSA employees, which will almost certainly include people doing the following:

  • Showing up without ID to verify their identity on the boarding pass to the TSA gatekeeper
  • Taking off one shoe but not the other before going through the metal detector (I cannot believe this shit actually happened yesterday)
  • Trying to send shit like gallons of orange juice through the X-ray detectors, then being forced to drink the whole thing before proceeding
  • TSA employees allowing really really suspect shit (like the 8 rolls of quarters I had in my bookbag for some reason) to pass through screening without a second thought
  • Walking through the metal detector, setting it off with their belts, removing said belt, and walking back through the metal detector WITH THE BELT IN THEIR HANDS, thus setting off the metal detector again

Figure 3: More hopeless than Figure 2

If you manage to get through these first two hoops without killing yourself/others, you get to take a nice long walk to wherever the hell your terminal and gate are. And when I say ‘long walk’, I really mean ‘death march’. Whereas the security line is ripe with the consequences of people being stupid, the march to the terminal is teeming with the consequences of Americans being inordinately fat. Here are some of the little trinkets you’ll encounter during your stroll through Bataan:

1.) Huge crowds of slow-moving motherfucking people. There are few things on the planet more annoying than a bunch of fat fucks walking around at 2.3 mph because they don’t know where the hell they’re going, so they feel the best thing to do is corral themselves and their plump ass kids in the middle of the hallway, take up as much room as possible (which is very easy to do when you’re a fat fuck), and waddle around looking at airport signs with an expression on your face like you’re reading the instruction manual for the international fucking space station.

2.) People standing on the conveyor belts. Wherever there is a long straightaway between concourses, there are conveyor belts that help people get from one end to the other in a more timely fashion. At least, that’s what they were designed for. What actually happens, however, is that fat motherfucking people use these belts as a place to park their giant Metal-Gear sized asses and think about what they’re going to eat in five minutes without being hindered by the monumentally difficult task of putting one foot in front of the other. This forces you to abandon the conveyor belt and sprint unassisted down the long hallway as you pass fat fucks on the conveyor belt breathing heavily because, though they don’t have to walk, they still have to stand up.

Figure 4: SBPH Airport

You’re relatively safe once you get to your gate. Usually the worst thing you’ll encounter here is some selfish bitch lying down stretched out across three seats even though the gate is insanely crowded and there’s a group of orphans with bone cancer standing next to her with no place to sit. The horror starts right back up, though, when boarding begins.

It’s amazing how few airlines board planes from rear to front. If you board a plane from rear to front, that would seem to prevent a logjam of people with rear seats waiting for idiots with front seats who seem to find it inexplicably difficult to stick their stupid bag in the overhead in under 5 seconds. Honestly, WHY THE FUCK DOES IT TAKE PEOPLE 120 SECONDS TO STICK A BAG IN AN EMPTY SPACE?!?!?!?!? On SBPH Airlines, flight attendants will be armed with pistols that they will use to kill anyone that takes more than 10 seconds to get in their damn seats once they’ve found their row.

Once in your seat, you will almost certainly find yourself sitting next to someone that fits one of the following criteria:

  1. Smells awful
  2. Looks awful
  3. Will not stop talking

The most effective way to silence this person is to start reciting passages from the Koran in an Arabic accent while rubbing your hands together and looking around nervously/angrily.

Figure 5: It helps to look like this

You’re then free to entertain yourself by looking out the window and watching airport attendants needlessly bodyslam people’s baggage onto the conveyor belts that relay the shit into the plane.

The rest of your trip will be enjoyable. I hear that the baggage claim can be a pain in the ass, but I wouldn’t know since I’m a heterosexual male and, unless I’m actually moving to another city, refuse to carry so much shit with me that I actually need to check a bag. If you have a bad experience at the baggage claim, you probably deserve it.

Gas Prices

10 06 2008

A couple months ago, I made the conscious decision to stop driving to the greatest extent possible. This decision was motivated by the following:

  1. Spite
  2. The imminent threat of global warming
  3. Preparing for the not-so-imminent threat of gasoline rationing

I was supposed to have lunch today with an old business associate and coworker of mine all the way across town, so today was one of the few days I actually had to drive to work. It’s been about a solid month since I’ve a.) driven in rush hour traffic, and b.) filled up my gas tank…and my reintroduction to weekday traffic brought me to a particular conclusion:

Gas isn’t nearly expensive enough.

Figure 1: Now THIS might get us somewhere.

Here in DC, gas prices are hovering around $4.35/gallon for premium unleaded, and it’s definitely over $4.00 for regular pretty much everywhere. In spite of the constant uptick in fuel costs, I didn’t notice any real decrease in the volume or stupidity of traffic I encountered during either the morning or evening commutes. In fact, I’d be willing to say that traffic was even slightly worse.

Keeping yourself out of your car for an extended period of time has an interesting effect on your driving – that is, you become INSANELY aggressive when you get back behind the wheel. If you haven’t driven for a month, then you’ve been used to walking around in the fresh air and sitting on the train or bus reading and/or working while some other shmuck deals with the roads scholars, soccer moms, old people, young people, asian people, and stalematers that would otherwise be driving you insane.

Figure 2: Incubator for aggressive driving

But when that day comes that you suddenly find yourself forced away from your city-paid chauffeurs, you are plunged right back into the fray and you are not ready to deal with it like a well-adjusted human being. You drive ridiculously fast, you cut people off (either before or after giving them the finger), you run red lights, and you aim your car at child pedestrians when school buses stop. You do this because you are enraged. Half of you is pissed at the seemingly infinite stupidity of the drivers around you, and your other half is pissed at the fact that you know you don’t ordinarily have to deal with this shit. You feel like you’ve been plucked from First-Class on a British Airways flight and tossed into the No-Class section of Soul Plane, with a blond-haired blue-eyed male stewardess* calling you ‘nigger’ just for good measure.

To solve this problem, the price of gas needs to go to at LEAST $50.00/gallon. The reason it needs to go so high is because people – especially white people – are making remarkable sacrifices to continue driving as long as the price of gas increases incrementally. A cataclysmic spike is what’s needed to get people off the roads, into public transit, and out of my fucking way when I need to drive every other fortnight.

I can imagine what you’re thinking. If everyone suddenly floods public transportation, isn’t the system going to become overloaded? It will at first, but it won’t be that way for long. Why? Because the government always responds when white people are inconvenienced.

Hop on any bus or the endpoints of a subway in virtually any major city in America, and you will notice that damn near everybody around you is black or hispanic. You’ll see plenty of white folks on the train once you’re in the city center where the train is more convenient that driving – but minorities are the only people you’ll see taking public transportation when it’s LESS convenient than driving. As a result, minorities make up the vast majority of public transportation users, and the government doesn’t give a flying fuck about them. That’s why public transportation is so miserably underfunded even though so many people rely on it.

But if you spike gas up to $50.00 a gallon and even whitey is forced to give up his car, then all of a sudden Average Joe White Man is going to find himself inconvenienced by crowded, filthy, and poorly maintained trains and buses…and there’s no way that the federal and local governments are going to let blue-eyed soccer moms suffer in crowded niggeriffic subway cars.

Figure 3: Interior and exterior of a public transport vehicle once white people are forced into the system

*No, this is not a typo


7 05 2008

I was running near the south side of the White House yesterday when I was nearly run over by some fat fucking woman on a Segway. For those who don’t know what a Segway is, it’s a transportation device used by healthy people to mock the handicapped.

Figure 1: You have legs. USE EM!

Any person without a physical disability caught on one of these goddamn things should be arrested and punished by having his legs amputated, or at least be classified as legally retarded (as should anyone who feels the need to wear a helmet while traveling at walking speed).

For those who haven’t encountered them personally, there are two types of Segway douches:

1.) The Owner

This is the rare assfuck who shells out upwards of $5,000 for the privilege of pretending his legs don’t work. You’ll see a surprisingly large number of these motherfuckers careening around the streets of DC, barely or not at all avoiding running people over as they make their way from their Capitol Hill row house to whatever government building they’re going to sit in for eight hours avoiding real work and filling with acidic suck the lives of millions of Americans. The most infuriating part about the Segway owner is the fact that my tax dollars are subsidizing his laziness in a vicious conspiratorial circle of financial waste:

Figure 2: How the government uses your money

2.) The Tourist

Here’s how the typical American fatass winds up in my city on a Segway and ruins my day in ten easy steps:

  1. Asshole from Iowa finishes making love to his sister
  2. Sister/Wife (Swife) suggests “Woooo WHEE! I THANKS WE SHUUUD TAKE UH VACATION!”
  3. Husband and Swife pack up their four inbred children and hop in their 20 year old station wagon
  4. Along the way, they pick up standard white man tourist gear: neon ball cap with wide brim, extra large sunglasses, fannie pack, khaki shorts, high rise socks, and “rugged” leather hiking sandals
  5. The Clampetts arrive in DC, avoiding the SE quadrant of the city at all costs and arriving at the Mayflower Hotel
  6. The Clampetts are fat from decades of eating mayonnaise sandwiches, and are afraid their feet may explode if they walk too far. They sign up for a Segway tour.
  7. Ethiopian cab driver takes advantage of arcane zoning system to charge $12 dollars to take the Clampetts the 1/2 mile to downtown DC to join the tour
  8. The Clampetts plop down $100 per person to join 40 other lazy idiots just like themselves and roll down the sidewalk with them in unison like a platoon of overweight cyborgs, relishing in the envious looks they receive from pied-à-terre fatties and the looks of disgust from non-fatties who aren’t too lazy to walk
  9. The eldest daughter, Susie Clampett, is losing control of her Segway near the Old Executive Office Building because she is a.) a gastropod, and b.) an inbred retard. She yells to her father “Uncle Daddy! What’s wrong with this thang?!?!” as it turns violently to the right, makes a U turn, and nearly causes her to run over a nearby mulatto runner.
  10. Mulatto runner now has to increase pace significantly to stay ahead of the mobile death squad, because they are following his route. 2 miles later his body quits on him; vomits in front of confused/horrified children and their parents.

Oh well. At least I can take some comfort in this:

When it was launched in December 2001 the annual sales target was 40,000 units, and the company expected to sell 50,000 to 100,000 units in the first 13 months. Segway Inc’s investors were optimistic. Inventor Dean Kamen predicted that the Segway “will be to the car what the car was to the horse and buggy” and John Doerr, a venture capitalist who invested in the company, predicted that Segway Inc would be the fastest company to reach $1 billion in sales. In fact only about 30,000 Segways were sold from 2001 to 2007.

Critics point to Segway Inc’s silence over its financial performance as an indication that the company is still not profitable, as about $100 million was spent developing the Segway.

-from Wikipedia

Figure 3: Think about it…


4 04 2008

You’ve been at work for nine hours. You sat at your goddamn desk the whole time doing whatever the hell it is you do for a living. You survived the pointless meetings, filling out timesheets and TPS reports, and the inane conversations with co-workers that neither of you want to participate in yet you both feel obligated to start.

You get in your car happy in the knowledge that you finally get to go home. You’ll get to cook dinner, read a little, watch some TV, exercise, and otherwise goof off. But before that happens, you know you’re going to have to deal with this:


Figure 1: MOTHERFUCKER!!!!!!

If you live in any major metro area and are unfortunate enough to leave work at the height of rush hour, you are going to run into traffic and you are going to want to kill everyone within a ten mile radius. Running into traffic causes people to, for a very brief time, become students of automotive existentialism. We see the wall of brake lights and ask ourselves “why?”

I’ll goddamn motherfucking tell you why traffic is fucked up:

1.) Soccer Moms: a soccer mom is a tiny white woman who drives a Ford Expedition despite having only one or two children, and is always on the phone for no goddamn reason. She buys such a large SUV because she knows she’s a shitty driver, but instead of staying off the road or taking the bus, she prefers to cause traffic accidents anyway and insulate herself against physical harm by driving an indestructible vehicle.


Figure 2: Dangerously inconsiderate uterus-monger with her Aryan litter

If you pass by a giant SUV (that isn’t a Cadillac, because that’s us) during rush hour, you’re almost guaranteed to find it being driven by a soccer mom with a phone held against her empty head while putting on eyeshadow, doing her taxes, and reading a copy of ‘Elle’ magazine as she cluelessly runs over puppies, kittens, baby deer, and the scientist that just cured breast cancer.

2.) The Roads Scholar: this is the fucking goddamn asshole who seems to think reading a textbook, novel, or fucking newspaper is a good idea while driving. Everyone reading this has seen the fucking guy with a newspaper COMPLETELY opened to its 30″+ width on the steering wheel WHILE THE CAR IS FUCKING MOVING!!!!!


Figure 3: “Welp, at least I got to read the Style section…”

Do you really need to read the newspaper that bad, you steaming pile of wolverine shit? Is it really so hard for you to be alone with your thoughts for a few minutes instead of having to be constantly entertained by print media? Is this reliance on the ideas of others the reason you’ve hit a career plateau in your late 20s? Do us all a favor and drive your car into the side of a library.

3.) Old People: the elderly usually wait until Sunday to fuck traffic up, but every now and again they’ll come out on a weekday. When they do, it’s never pretty. This tiny old person will be pulled up with his face six inches from the steering wheel looking like he’s trying to spot a gnat on the hood. He REFUSES to drive more than 35 mph and REFUSES to get out of the passing lane.


Figure 4: My hero

I can’t be too mad at the old folks, though. There’s something heroic and even patriotic in their defiant refusal to give up their cars in spite of the overwhelming lack of sense in their continued driving. Personally, I can’t wait to be the world’s first blind 115 year old driver.

4.) Young People: with high schoolers being involved in more sports and other after school activities than ever before, more and more of them are winding up on the roads when the rest of the working public is driving home. Young drivers fall into two categories: the extremely overconfident, and the extremely underconfident.

The overconfident drivers are the ones who think driving a car in real life is like driving in a video game. You can (and must) drive as fast as you can under any conditions, and other motorists are little more than poles in their automotive slalom of death. They also try very very hard to look cool while driving. They turn the volume of their shitty Linkin Park CD all the way up, lean back as far as they can in the seat, and drive with one hand. Inevitably, they will turn a blind corner or misjudge braking distance, slamming into the back of someone’s car and causing a four hour fucking traffic jam.


Figure 5: More dangerous than the Watts Riots

While overconfident drivers are usually boys, the ranks of the underconfident drivers are filled mostly with girls. Underconfident drivers are very much like old people in that they refuse to drive over 35mph, and they’re pulled up so close to the wheel they could (and probably should) steer the car with their tits. Unlike old people, they have absolutely no clue what the fuck they’re doing. You can recognize the underconfident driver by the look of sheer terror on her face, constant and unnecessary checking of blind spots, and complete inability to parallel park.


Figure 6: Tragic Comedy

5.) Asian People: my brother claims that the ability to concentrate intensely on a single item like a laser beam that makes asians so good at academics makes them, at the same time, incredibly inept in the multi-tasking environment of driving. I’m inclined to agree with him.


Figure 7: Why bicycles were so popular in Chinese cities

This theory is backed up by The Fast and the Furious: Tokyo Drift, in that all the asians who were expert drivers were also unmitigated jackasses. If they were the typical asian overachievers or FOBs with whom we’re so familiar, FF:TD would’ve been a four minute film about a 50 car pileup in an otherwise empty parking lot featuring a bunch of confused and bespectacled asians all pretending not to be able to speak english.

6.) Stalematers: this situation happens on two-lane parkways all the fucking time. Someone who has no business in the left lane will inevitably be in the left lane. Someone goes to pass them in the right lane. Then the fucking asshole in the left lane speeds up enough not to get passed. The two continue adjusting their speed upwards until neither is willing to go any faster and they wind up hogging both lanes, side by side in an automotive stalemate at the same goddamn speed. In this infuriating game of speed limit chicken, everybody loses – especially the hundreds of angry people behind the stalematers who want to pass but physically can’t.


Figure 8: The only time Stalemating is OK

Stalemating is the reason I’ve been lobbying congress for the last ten years to let me attach a battering ram to the front of my car. So far they’ve ignored my requests. I suppose they have more important things to do, like persecuting baseball players for steroid use while the country’s fighting two wars and looking into the mouth of a recession.


28 03 2008

Black people hate Europe because yuppie white people claim to love it so much, yet they refuse to live there instead of fucking up our neighborhoods.


Figure 1: Just fucking move there already. I’ll help you pack!

What the hell is the deal with hipster white dudes and fucking goddamn Europe? I’ve heard them praise everything from the ‘ancientness’ of the cities, to better social programs and government, less crime, more attractive women and more charming men, and (my personal favorite) the ‘culture’.

This last one cracks me up because of the irony of it all. There’s nothing funnier than a white dude of mixed Anglo-Russian descent traveling to Prague to reconnect with his ‘roots’. This is almost as funny as black dudes in the US reconnecting with the past by visiting Ethiopia* even though their slave ancestors came from the Ivory Coast.

I suppose black folks are biased. For white people, Europe conjures up images of centuries old churches, tapas on open plazas, cobblestone streets, pristine evergreen forests, boutique wines, and quaint old villages. For me it conjures up images of this, this, this, this, this, and especially this. White people may pretend otherwise, but deep down they know Europe SUCKS, and that’s why they won’t live there. Europe sucks so fucking hard they’d rather live smack in the middle of American ghettos than in Lisbon**.


Figure 2: Me telling Portugal where we stand

Here are some of the things that suck, with teeth and dry tongue, about various European countries:

  1. Spain: pickpockets, pickpockets, and more pickpockets.
  2. France: Socialism. Ew.
  3. England: bad teeth, bad food, and the constant threat of rain. And Hugh Grant
  4. Czech Republic: they will throw you out a window, and they will not give a fuck
  5. Portugal: a country full of dudes whining about their lost empire
  6. Italy: the mob is their fault
  7. Germany: Too easy.
  8. Netherlands: for some reason, the Dutch have declared war on Islam

Europe does have one thing going for it though – they know exactly how to treat their children:


Figure 3: Child-rearing in Madrid

*Ethopia is Prague for black people
**That, and weak European economies aren’t able to absorb skill-less immigrants with useless degrees who are unable/unwilling to work with their hands