How to have fun with Ikea's perky, automated web-based assistant, Anna:

("M" is my friend Mike)

Sent to me in email......

So, I'm a car enthusiast and part-time auto mechanic who helps my neighbors out with their cars. Hey, I've got a little knowledge, been doing this for a few years, and I've got a great set of tools. I have a rather fast and rare early 70's hobby car that I take out on weekends, an Oldsmobile 442.

So anyway, my neighbor's kid turns 17, and the mother gives him her Honda Civic. Say it out loud now with me: Honda Civic.

Plastic and aluminum, 75 horsepower, basic commuter car, Honda Civic.

'Perfect for a new driver, economical, easy to maintain and dependable: a good basic car for junior' I though to myself.

The first week was fine. He bought spinning hubcaps and a set of dragon seat covers for it. That should have been it. He should have left it alone.

The week after that, I walk out to my mailbox, and I almost called the cops. I thought I had just seen a UFO! As it slowly approached.....I could see it was a Honda Civic.....with four different blinking colors of neon underneath it. Holy #$%^! I almost had a f'ing seizure looking at this thing. Even the shifter knob was blinking.

...Then about 48 hours later, I'm laying in bed, about ready to %^&* my girlfriend, when I hear BZZZZZZZZZZ-owwww! BZZZZZ-owww! over and over in the neighbor's garage. 'Well this is an odd time for Mr. Richardson to be f'ing around with his chainsaw' I thought out loud. After 45 minutes of this irritating buzzing, I thought I'd go over and ask the neighbor to play with his chainsaw in the morning. Here is the junior Richardson boy, proudly revving his engine up and down. Four more wannabe fake gangsta kids were standing around 'tuning' his new exhaust.....which consisted of a rather small header and 4 coffee cans spray painted silver and the words 'Type-R' stenciled on it.

Holy ****! I told him to please quit f'ing with the car so I could sleep.

Wait, that is BY FAR not all.

The following week, he asks me if he can borrow a screwdriver and a hammer. He is installing his new 'Type-R' rear spoiler. He was proud of it. He paid almost $600 for it. I asked him where he was going to put it, since a Honda Civic does not have a trunk. "The roof, dawg." is what he told me. This spoiler looks like an aluminum picnic table that you would see in a public park, except for lots of rivets in it and the words 'Type-R' all over it. I almost stopped him, but I wanted to see how retarded it would look. I gleefully helped him install it. Yup, totally retarded. Classic. He went on to explain to me that he needed it for all of the downforce he needed to maintain traction at supersonic speeds. 4 cylinders...75 horsepower...downforce. Oh my god, what a retard.

It gets better.

2 weeks later, he is asking to borrow my cordless drill. He just bought a body kit, yo, and needs to be down fo' shizzle wit da tool dawg to install it, no wut he's sane, dawg? Body kit. Pay attention. It get good here. So he drills all of the holes, double sided tape and screws this mother^&*%er to his car, and it REALLY is beginning to look like a space ship, or an alien life form. Or a circus car. Well, circus, not yet. That's coming. Here's the problem. The body kit is white. The car is dark green. It looks like a burrito vomit...and the car is a full 4 inches wider, and 2 inches lower than it was before. He can't get the doors to open or close properly, because the "body kit, yo" is catching the door jamb. So, always the helpful one, I give him my grinder. That was the coolest, watching this 'tard grind on his new $1200 yo yo word up body kit. Word. It was the flyest, dawg.

Circus act part 1

Now, he decides he wants to "Lower the ride, dawg." I wouldn't let him use my tools, as I was afraid this dumb %$^& would blow himself up with what he wanted to do next. He would cut the coils...dangerous...unsafe...stupid. He succedded in cutting the coils, but now his new body kit dawg was dragging on the ground, and, to top it all off, the car was bouncing up and down like a carnival ride, effectively ending his neon lighted story. His 'Type-R' exhaust was dragging on the ground as well.

You should see how retarded this #$%^er looks. A huge picnic table on the roof, 2 tone body kit, special-kid taillights, blinking, broken neon, stickers all over it, buzzing like a chainsaw on crack bouncing up and down like a clown car.

Wait, that's not all. Now Hontard wants a "syssem, yo". Oh yeah. He pieced together 6 different trashed car stereos, one home stereo, and a Kragen auto parts special bass speaker, and somehow wired the neon lights (what's left of them) to blink with the beat of the music....except you can't hear the music. You can only hear the bass...and it rattles his rooftop spoiler and license plate frame.

Now it's REALLY looking AND SOUNDING like a clown car.

Okay. Now for Hontard's carbon fiber paint job. He puts a hood scoop from an early 60's Mustang on it, and it's ENORMOUS. It kind of balanced out the retardedness of the rear spoiler/picnic table. Then out comes the spray cans. All 18 of them. First, he pulled off his spinning hubcaps and painted the wheels BLACK. Flat black. Then he painted the body kit dawg BRIGHT, NEON YELLOW. The rest of the car was painted BRIGHT RED with a PURPLE fist turning in to a dragon or some #$%^ airbrushed on the doors.

Clown car complete? Not yet.

As I stated previously, I have experience with fast cars. He knows that I can make a car go fast. He comes over with a copy of "Honda Tuner Guy" magazine, filled with equally retarded looking cars. He asks me "Yo dawg, I wanna make dis here B18 go fast and #$%^. I was thinkin of an Acura V-tec swap or some NOSS." So I asked him "What exactly do you intend to do with this car? Will you be entering it in the most retarded car contest, or what?" He replies "Naw, cracka. That $%^& be is funny and #$%^, but I is for reals. I need to be running in the 12's and makin 350 horsepower." So I asked him "Why don't you save your money and buy a car that makes 350 horsepower, like a Camaro or a GTO or something, instead of trying to make a car with 75 horsepower that was never intended to go that fast any faster?" He says "Don't be a foo yo. Everybody knows dat ode skoo %&^$ can't hang." Now I'm pissed. Insulted, I replied "Lookit here, junior. I'll pull my Olds out of the garage and make your #@$% look like it was going backwards. No NOS, no turbo, no stickers, and no body kit is gonna help you beat the 'ode skoo' cars, dawg. and the same goes for any of your other retard car driving friends. I'll have you and your homies wetting your pants with fear before we ever hit second gear. You have 6 grand worth of %^&* bolted onto a $1000 car that was perfectly good when you got it, and now it looks, sounds and drives like ass. Get the #$%^ out of my garage!" He looked like he was gonna cry. He left with a solid "%^&# you dawg, I'll beat your old man car with a 150 shot!" and he left, trying to pull up his drawers and give me the finger at the same time.

Showdown

Now I am a responsible adult, and I do not condone street racing. However, when faced with a direct insult, challenge, and #$%^ you, any man tends to be defensive enough to take a few risks.

Beautiful sunny day. First day I've had my car out of the garage all winter. I check the fluids. I start the engine. I anticipate a crisp, lively jaunt at mind-bending speeds up the interstate. I rev my engine. I sip my coffee.

Hontard heard me revving my engine, so him and 2 of his friends do the same in his driveway. One is a new Acura in the pre-clown car stages of molestation, and the other one is junior's mom's Civic. It sounds like a lawn mower race at the Richardson's house. I crank my engine up to 3000 rpm and drown them out.

I climb in my car, check the gauges, and idle out onto the road.

I look in my rearview, and I'm being followed by two bouncing, brightly colored bumping clown cars with backward hat retards pointing in my direction.

I ignore them. Not worth my trouble. I'm an adult.

Hondtard and Acuratard pass me when I hit the 680 on the left and right. BZZZZzzzz. Gone. Good. I am halfway to Livermore when they blast out of the onramp and attempt to box me in. Acuratard is revving his engine and pointing forward. Hondtard is slowing me down in front of me.

#$%^ it. I've had enough.

I stuffed it down into third gear, opened all 455 cubic inches wide open, almost rear-ended Hondtard and swerved directly at Acuratard. I broke the rear tires loose at 70 mph, and Acuratard was busy downshifting trying to get enough speed to catch me.

I dusted these little #$%^suckers so bad they simply disappeared. I got off on the Livermore exit and waited for them on the on ramp. Some of their own game. Right back atcha homies.

I let them see me. Then I smoked the tires brutally and violently out of the ramp so that they would know I was pissed and coming for them.

I knew the Honda was slow, so I ignored him and brought it down right on the Acura's bumper. I got within an inch of this terrified teenager's ass and popped on the high beams and gunned the motor. I mashed the gas in third and was threatening to bump him. 90, 100, 110...
He couldn't get away form me. He waved for me to pass. Hondtard was WAAYYY in the back. The Acura *** was scared and beaten and he knoew it. I pulled alongside. I motioned for him to roll down his window. I screamed and pointed. He backed way off. I stuck my finger in the air and screamed "#$%^ you!" at Acuratard, and dumped it, quickly accelerating to 130 mph until they couldn't see my taillights anymore.

Later that evening, as I told my fiancee ("You're a juvenile *******, you could have killed those kids and you're going to piss off the neighbors!") I heard two chainsaws idle up very slowly to my house. Holy @#$%. It's a drive by. These #$%^ers want to kill me. A knock on the door. I answer it, ready to beat some fake gangsta ass if I have to.

They want to see my car now. "Do you have NOS? Is it a Hemi?"

Tards. Get lost.

Clown car is still on the road, but now homie g wants to learn about the "ode skoo".

If you see this car, put a sticker on it. He seems to like them, and thinks they made the car cooler. Then dust his ass once for good measure.

You simply have to see this kid's car to believe it. If your car looks retarded and it's fast, cool. Then you can look a little #$%^ing special and get away with it. But this thing looks like it was dropped off at the special education shop class and built by retards, and it's not even quick.

In honor of Dale "pimpdaddyhustla" Richardson, class of 2006 and his clown car, I dedicate this to you. Let me take you for a ride once you feel you are man enough. I see you stepped up to the plate and lost big time. I'm willing to help you install the "noss" and the "v-tecs" and let you try again."

Wow. I went to see it again, brought my daughter this time after previewing it. Lucas has redeemed himself for Jar-Jar Binks. (Who appears on screen for exactly 2.7 secs and says three words -- which are more background noise that anything.)

It's good. True, the acting is wooden and Hayden Christenson is still just as bad as he was in AOTClones, but at least Lucas got some help on the script writing and the dialogue isn't QUITE as bad as it was in Eps 1 & 2. But the action scenes... Holy Crap, George -- this is what it's all about. Lucas has given us possibly the the most intricate opening scene in the history of film-making. It is completely stunning and you can't help but to be visually overwhelmed.



Wow.

Adidas Countrys. The best, most comfortable sneakers ever made. I wore them for several years starting in freshman year in High School when I was on the Cross-Country team. (Yeah, ME an athlete... who woulda thought....) Adidas stopped making them by the mid-80's .
They're "old school" by today's standards, with completely leather uppers and the "gum" treads. The impact absorption was a rudimentary layer in between the tread and the shoe itself and there were no space-age anti-torsion, hyerspace-linking, mega-poly-super-laser-guided, pronation correction technologies employed. But they were wicked comfortable, long wearing and MAN! you could run all day in them.
Would I want to run the Boston Marathon in them today? Hell no, but for basic comfortable, kicking around sneakers that look good --They can't be beat and cost about half what a decent modern running shoe costs.

Adidas started making them again and I bought some.

They're WIKKID PISSAH!