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This guy bought a Range Rover and now he doesn't need or want it anymore. He wants to take it off the road for good in an effort to raise awareness about the various environmental issues associated with modern cars. If you can come up with some kind of fantastic spectacle that people will enjoy, he might do it. Submit your ideas now and later vote for the best of them.
I think he kind of has to come up with some kind of clever adult version of strapping firecrackers to it the way you did with your toys when you were 10. Then he can drop a giant rock on it, drive it right into the ocean, bury it in the sand, throw it out his brothers second floor window, leave it in the middle of the street and wait for cars to run it over, feed it to the dog, try to flush it down the toilet, poop on it, light it on fire, leave it behind the garage, and forget about it. That's right....he can poop on it.
Also, don't steal my idea, I'll be submitting it (probably not). (definitely not)
One of the shared computers at the office.
subtitled: Where is My Mind by the Pixies.
This morning on the subway I decided I would buy a whole wheat bagel for breakfast. Only for a good five minutes, in a train tunneling below the Hudson, I could not remember what my favorite bagel was called. What's worse, "whole wheat bagel" crossed my mind, but I dismissed it, thinking "there is no such thing." Seriously, I get one like more than once a week. WTF.
I think we weathered the flu-storm and it is breaking, but on Sunday:
AP was battling a nearly 103 fever in an air-conditioned room. I fed him drugs and pressed a cold compress to his brow, forehead, and neck. As I tried to cool him, I spoke in my best southern belle accent.
"Husband, I nevah doubted you'd return from the woe-ah. But when you'd left, parta me left right along. As a fancy lady, I knew only indoor pastimes, all things respectable, I had no way to support ma-self after you'd gone to fight for the South. When ma pa, the good preacha died, and I could no longa sustain, so I hi-ed a rough girl hand. She was everythin I wasn't, but under her firm guide, I learned to work the land and even killed a cock. Two women, workin the land as any man could, maybe bettah. We had hour struggles, the wintah, men tryin to take advantage, but we sustained with the help of Jack White of the White Stripes. Then you returned ta me, against all odds, but I feah your chances ain't so good. Husband, I think you may get shot on Cold Mountain right after we make love foah the first time. Just a feelin. Shit ain't it. But rest now. Build your strength."
People, if I asked you to, could you shit your pants? Ok, imagine it wasn't me who was asking. Imagine you just wanted to prove you could do it. That you are the boss of you and no societal rule (like "this is where and when you can do your business") is going to change that. Could you then?
When I was a child, I didn't like to pee at school. So after a long day of holding it, I would rush home. And sometimes the garage door wouldn't open, sometimes I would fumble my keys. On those days, I peed my pants. I was old enough to still remember the feeling, the warm pooling of my jeans and the resulting sting of not only my chaffed thighs, but my humiliation. I knew what I did was bad. I knew it from my early days when they made me know it.
So my question is... could you? Could you hack it?
I don't have anything against it, I just come from a place where no men I know really where rings. I kind of feel like you have to be either a gypsy or an Italian to pull it off. Any thoughts?
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