Something's Rotten In SanMarc...
Hell Ordered Ice Chippers & Snowshoes This Week...
Those thunderstorms this morning weren't your usual springtime precipitation...
Oh, no...
They were the frenzied tantrums of the gods, I tell you! The pantheon is upset at the unnatural chain of events emanating from my sister's house outside San Marcos...
You see, the customary order of things has been ruptured... the status quo shattered beyond all recognition... a bizarre chain of events has led to the most unthinkable event seen in this state in half a millennium...
My parents... have purchased... a new car!!
Since the dawn of horseless carriages, it has been written deep in the foundations of the auto factories that Yea, Verily, the parents of El Capitan shall never own a vehicle less than 12-15 years old. So it was written, so it was done. Seylah!
For years, my family owned one beater after another. Some years, we were graced with TWO smoking, rattling deathtraps! (I begged Dad to get the custom plates POS#1 & POS#2... he wisely refused.)
Even if the vehicles could maintain a good head of steam and get you to your destination, they were usually lacking in the usual amenities most people took for granted, like A/C that could blow cool air, or gauges that worked, or paint that didn't have big Bondo patches, or tires with more than 1/8 inch of tread.
Adding insult to injury, for most of the 80's, Dad refused to put more than 1/4 tank of gas in the cars, fearing a net loss of capital should a car throw a rod and die in transit. This usually led to El Capitan pushing a early 70's land yacht many blocks to a gas pump whenever the parents misjudged the available trip radius.
Dad's ancient '93 Ford Escort hatchback threw a timing belt three weeks ago. It was repaired, but the thing tossed the timing belt again last Friday while he was up at my sister's house. His mechanic would have repaired it free of charge, but we had to find a way to get it to him. So, Dad was trapped at my sister's house with Mom for the duration, and I was faced with having to tow the Escort back this weekend in that wee little sliver of time in between the Pig Roast and the Indy 500.
The unthinkable occurred last night, when Mom called me to let me know they were heading back to my sister's after a day of car shopping... in a 2007 Ford Taurus.
I was overcome by a coughing fit, unable to speak... Not only were they in a car manufactured in this decade, but this very model year!!! Holy Shit!!!
I fully expect to exit work tonight to see a lions & lambs vs. cats & dogs mixed doubles tennis tourney at the recreation center by the parking lot. I will be avoiding hens, as they now all possess many teeth, and I expect the local frogs to have grown a thick crop of fur. In short, this is just not right, ladies and gentlemen, and no good can come of it...
Ah, well. Let's just see what happens.
The king is dead!
Long live the king!
(car pics pulled off of eBay, but colors are right!)
Those thunderstorms this morning weren't your usual springtime precipitation...
Oh, no...
They were the frenzied tantrums of the gods, I tell you! The pantheon is upset at the unnatural chain of events emanating from my sister's house outside San Marcos...
You see, the customary order of things has been ruptured... the status quo shattered beyond all recognition... a bizarre chain of events has led to the most unthinkable event seen in this state in half a millennium...
My parents... have purchased... a new car!!
Since the dawn of horseless carriages, it has been written deep in the foundations of the auto factories that Yea, Verily, the parents of El Capitan shall never own a vehicle less than 12-15 years old. So it was written, so it was done. Seylah!
For years, my family owned one beater after another. Some years, we were graced with TWO smoking, rattling deathtraps! (I begged Dad to get the custom plates POS#1 & POS#2... he wisely refused.)
Even if the vehicles could maintain a good head of steam and get you to your destination, they were usually lacking in the usual amenities most people took for granted, like A/C that could blow cool air, or gauges that worked, or paint that didn't have big Bondo patches, or tires with more than 1/8 inch of tread.
Adding insult to injury, for most of the 80's, Dad refused to put more than 1/4 tank of gas in the cars, fearing a net loss of capital should a car throw a rod and die in transit. This usually led to El Capitan pushing a early 70's land yacht many blocks to a gas pump whenever the parents misjudged the available trip radius.
Dad's ancient '93 Ford Escort hatchback threw a timing belt three weeks ago. It was repaired, but the thing tossed the timing belt again last Friday while he was up at my sister's house. His mechanic would have repaired it free of charge, but we had to find a way to get it to him. So, Dad was trapped at my sister's house with Mom for the duration, and I was faced with having to tow the Escort back this weekend in that wee little sliver of time in between the Pig Roast and the Indy 500.
The unthinkable occurred last night, when Mom called me to let me know they were heading back to my sister's after a day of car shopping... in a 2007 Ford Taurus.
I was overcome by a coughing fit, unable to speak... Not only were they in a car manufactured in this decade, but this very model year!!! Holy Shit!!!
I fully expect to exit work tonight to see a lions & lambs vs. cats & dogs mixed doubles tennis tourney at the recreation center by the parking lot. I will be avoiding hens, as they now all possess many teeth, and I expect the local frogs to have grown a thick crop of fur. In short, this is just not right, ladies and gentlemen, and no good can come of it...
Ah, well. Let's just see what happens.
The king is dead!
Long live the king!
(car pics pulled off of eBay, but colors are right!)
posted by El Capitan | 12:49 PM
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