Great story Matt, congrats on a great car and a successful trip!

Pick the three Mercs. Negotiate with the owner to get all three. Trade him your 1970 Cutlass ([oklahomacity.craigslist.org]) that your mom used to drive before she started drinking and her liver gave out.

Go to pick them up, and discover there's a family of Okies living in the middle one. Hose them out of there and pile up your booty on the flatbed. Drive them back to your house and arrange cinderblocks on the front yard. Put the cars on top and let the grass grow up around them.

Buy a really ugly and aggressive dog and chain him to the bumper of one of the cars. Never clean up his scat. Groom a "wife-beater by wearing it when eating junk food and shunning deodorant. Grow your hair long in the back, and keep it short in the front. Acquire facial scars from fights. Invite the Okies back to live in one of the Mercurys.

Go on Jerry Springer and be shocked by the revelation that your sister is actually your mother and the woman who raised you all those years (god rest her soul) was really your grandmother. Get bleeped no fewer than 172 times in the hour-long program.

Buy a gun.

Start hanging out at the Junior High School when classes let out. Offer fourteen year-olds smokes. Brag about how you're gonna' fix up the Mercurys and how you never should've traded the Cutlass and if you had half a mind you'd just go back there and get it, cause that guy in Norman was a total dweeb.

Ride your bike from high school with a sixer of Colt 45 hanging from the plastic collars on the up-turned handlebars. Hang a confederate flag over the living room window and get in a fight with the dad of the eighth-grader you've been dating. Plan on making a home-made porno staring you and your new girlfriend "Starlene" whom you met when she was panhandling for Night Train outside the Vendome. Have your plans foiled by "Whiskey-dick".

Get served notice by the city for improper property maintenance. Yell at the neighbors for turning you in. Throw dog crap toward their house, but only manage to get it on the fence and the top of your shoes.

Put a for sale sign in front of the Mercurys stating "best offer."

Sober up.

Cut your hair and buy some clean clothes. Have the cars towed to the junk yard. Mow the lawn. Return to your given name and stop demanding to be called "The Hammer". Shoot the damn dog. Enroll at the Junior College. Make up with your sister who tells you Springer made her tell those lies. Promise yourself never again to buy another car you see on Project Car Hell.

Get on with your life.

I don't care if he's a right-wing fascist nut job, or a terrorist fist-jabbing left-wing socialist, hitting a ped and then fleeing the scene is the utmost in douchebaggery. Throw him into DC lockup and take away his Vette.

Oh, and to the Ped; sue him for every last cent he has.

WHILE I'M ON MY SOAPBOX: Can't we pass a law that requires retailers not to be able to sell something at a price for which they can't return change? Gas stations price fuel at X.XX and 9/10ths. IF I want only a gallon, I have to pay them an extra 1/10th of a cent. I know this means very little to the individual consumer, but adding up all those 1/10 of a cents means big profits for the oil companies. Make em round it to the nearest penny I say. Either that, or give me a 1/10 cent credit when I come to fill up my gas can for the lawn mower. Bastards!

/political threadjack.

Now, layabout: What's a "chav bint"? Because it sounds like something I'd have with breakfast.

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