Up yours, Mr. Dead President

In the 1980s, our dead friend Ronny lowered the bumper standard from 5 to 2.5 mph. Under the old standard – no damage was allowed. Under the then-new standard, damage is allowed.

Fast forward to 2007. It’s Friday night. I am expecting some company. I park next to my assigned space, so company won’t get hassled. The next door space has a post, and a curb in front of it. My Mustang has a long hood. My liver has a couple of Busch beers to process, thanks to my neighbor the Blues Traveler, but it’s been a couple hours for that swill to work its way through.

Parking should be easy enough, right?

  1. stay between the lines
  2. don’t hit anything
  3. don’t spill your drink

Well, 2 out of 3 ain’t bad. Stupid fucking pole.

Anyway, thanks to that ass biter Reagan, bumpers do get to be obliterated by a stiff breeze and meet the federal standard. So, that impact, which was less severe than that time I hit was run into by the angry fat chick in the crosswalk, creased my fricking bumper. I hit a street sign at 10 minutes to 1982 on black ice and did less damage. I nailed my scoutmaster in the ass rearended my scoutmaster collided with a Mercury Marquis tailgate and did less damage.

WTF, you dead bastard? What were you thinking? Oh wait. Reagan. That’s like asking W what he was thinking. Jelly beans; “Walker, Texas Ranger.” Tomayto; tomahto.

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One thought on “Up yours, Mr. Dead President

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