– Actual Dodge ad (or not)
Why talk about this shitbox? I saw four – FOUR – of these before lunch today, and the one pictured is a clone of the one pops picked out.
- A road trip to Bloomington/Normal, Illinois to watch Bob Perryman eat a fist on TV with 8 Barrel, Phid and Bagman. Plenty of room for screaming loons. Privacy glass for Bagman in the back to flip off the cops.
- Fills in admirably when your Marquis eats a Buick Century and needs its eyelids removed.
- Madonna. Van. Fetzer Center parking lot at night.
- Gas was $1 +/-.
What Sucked Ass:
- The actual drive to Bloomington Normal Illinois. Flatter than Nebraska, but with less to see.
- Madonna. Van. Fetzer Center parking lot at night. No nookie. No anything, except awkward.
- It’s 1985. Dad is now single (again). Divorced his crazy, bitchy 2nd wife and said good-bye to his prissy little pussy whipped house in the sticks. Plus, it’s been a couple of years since he bought his S-10 and Z-7, so it’s time for a new car. Time to party, you stud! But no. No Corvette. No Mark VII LSC. No used Thunderbird even. No, Dad has to buy a van. A fucking van. Idiot.
Why a Van, Pops? “Because Buzzkill is getting married, and we (you) will need to drive a bunch of guests around for a week.”
Hertz rents vans.
- The truck got used to drive my grandparents to Detroit to meet the future in-laws. The future in-laws promptly rented their own cars, so they could do their own stuff, like any sane people, or anyone who wasn’t asked whether they wanted to be carted around all week.
- Buzzkill-like proliferation – THESE VANS ARE EVERYWHERE. The evidence.
- Buzzkill drives a 15 passenger version. One person has to ride on the roof.
- Exhibit 2. They are spies, lurking in shadow. Watching. Biding their time.
3. You cannot Leave them unsupervised, without a double layer containment grid. They breed like tribbles. Or Buzzkill.
- Obvious lateral self replication. Long blue Shitpile <–Short brown Shitpile <–Genuine Shitpile
- Beat them severely if they get too close