I begin this latest posting with three disclaimers:
1- I am VERY VERY tired...
2- The events I am about to relate to you took place at approximately 7:20 AM - an ungodly hour.
3- I am *still* very very tired...
I was rudely awakened at the aforementioned time by my mother this morning. She needed me to help her jumpstart her car; the battery was dead. Okay, major pain, granted, but not too serious. It's not rocket science, after all...
I get downstairs, not as fully clothed as I ought to have been, in retrospect. Got the jumper cables from the boot, check, start the MG... need the keys to start the MG... Got the keys, check, start the MG... start the MG... START, YOU F***ING PIECE OF BRITISH INSANITY!!!!
So.
We then proceeded to push start the MG, which had lost it's charge, so that we could take THAT charge and use it to start the other car. So we did.
10 sweaty minutes later...
Jumpers hooked up, MG running as properly as it will ever decide to... trying to start the car... wrouw wrouw wrouw... wrouw wrouw wrouwrrrrrr tktktktktktk...
Nothing. To quote Douglas Adams "...a terrible ghastly silence", punctuated only by my loud profanities.
I was then assigned the task of driving my brother to school by my mother in the MG. Now, I avoid being in cars with my brother for the simple reason that when I'm driving he seems to think that we're on some kind of frat boy magical mystery tour, when the only mystery tour he's on is one where he'll be very soon taking a tour of various untertaker's offices and their adjacent green turfed three dimensionally decorated terraces.
It was fifteen seconds into this trip when he first uttered the word "sweet". It was sixteen seconds when I first hit him.
In younger times, airplane mechanics would blame mysterious electrical and mechanical difficulties on supernatural beings they called "gremlins". If these mythical beasts do in fact exist, THEN THE MG IS INHABITED BY HITLERS GREMLIN MASTER RACE!!!!! Not kidding.
It was an adventure, I will say that. No fuel guage, no temperature guage, no tachometer, no windshield wipers (an especial annoyance, considering the fact it was raining) and no turn signals.
I will leave you with this image. With one hand on the wheel, one hand frantically changing gears, one hand pummelling my dearly departed brother, and one hand making hand signals to the ignorant peones on the roads... I was like Vishnu, baby...s
1- I am VERY VERY tired...
2- The events I am about to relate to you took place at approximately 7:20 AM - an ungodly hour.
3- I am *still* very very tired...
I was rudely awakened at the aforementioned time by my mother this morning. She needed me to help her jumpstart her car; the battery was dead. Okay, major pain, granted, but not too serious. It's not rocket science, after all...
I get downstairs, not as fully clothed as I ought to have been, in retrospect. Got the jumper cables from the boot, check, start the MG... need the keys to start the MG... Got the keys, check, start the MG... start the MG... START, YOU F***ING PIECE OF BRITISH INSANITY!!!!
So.
We then proceeded to push start the MG, which had lost it's charge, so that we could take THAT charge and use it to start the other car. So we did.
10 sweaty minutes later...
Jumpers hooked up, MG running as properly as it will ever decide to... trying to start the car... wrouw wrouw wrouw... wrouw wrouw wrouwrrrrrr tktktktktktk...
Nothing. To quote Douglas Adams "...a terrible ghastly silence", punctuated only by my loud profanities.
I was then assigned the task of driving my brother to school by my mother in the MG. Now, I avoid being in cars with my brother for the simple reason that when I'm driving he seems to think that we're on some kind of frat boy magical mystery tour, when the only mystery tour he's on is one where he'll be very soon taking a tour of various untertaker's offices and their adjacent green turfed three dimensionally decorated terraces.
It was fifteen seconds into this trip when he first uttered the word "sweet". It was sixteen seconds when I first hit him.
In younger times, airplane mechanics would blame mysterious electrical and mechanical difficulties on supernatural beings they called "gremlins". If these mythical beasts do in fact exist, THEN THE MG IS INHABITED BY HITLERS GREMLIN MASTER RACE!!!!! Not kidding.
It was an adventure, I will say that. No fuel guage, no temperature guage, no tachometer, no windshield wipers (an especial annoyance, considering the fact it was raining) and no turn signals.
I will leave you with this image. With one hand on the wheel, one hand frantically changing gears, one hand pummelling my dearly departed brother, and one hand making hand signals to the ignorant peones on the roads... I was like Vishnu, baby...s
posted by Kahloke | 8:51 AM
3 Comments:
:( awww... I bet the little (tall?) jerk-face deserved the punching. You should fight the MG, too.
you know that no un-working wind sheild wipers is illegal right? What a travesty. I cannot associate with rebels like you!
I'm so sorry. Really I am. I should be strung up and shot and then stepped on and insulted for my driving a car without working windshield wipers... I'll understand if you don't want to talk to me ever ever ever again...
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