Just kidding. I just wanted to say how much I fucking hate cars.

I had totally forgotten about it, but Brian reminded me.

Anyhow, I fucking hate ‘em.

You probably didn’t know that.

In high school, I couldn’t understand the kids who spent all the money they earned working two jobs on their muscle cars, while I saved mine for a trip to Europe and stuff like that.

Until one let me drive his Camaro. So, okay, they’re really fun to drive. More fun than a 1958 Chevy Apache half-ton pickup truck, or a VW Golf on its last legs, that sets itself on fire when you’re 300 miles from home on the Olympic Peninsula, and Swiss hitchhikers laugh at you.

I especially hate Fiat Doblos, although they look okay. Nice design, lousy mechanics.

Decent public transportation would save so much money it’s not even funny. Theoretically. Of course, someone can always fuck up public transportation and so on.

I took the train to work for 5 years until I got tired of repeatedly having bronchitis every winter, like 4-5 times a winter.

Barring the discovery of some miraculous new energy source that will enable cheap flying cars, though, seriously, what about slot cars? Lightweight electric cars that look like Formula 1 racers, powered not from heavy batteries, but practically battery-free, powered instead by juice from rails in the center of the lanes? The roads could even be made of solar-electric panels and generate their own power during the day. Maybe this would be an unpopular idea because it eliminates batteries, which are central to a lot of electric car business models.

Anyway, I hate cars. I hate buying them, buying the gas, paying for repairs and paying for insurance. Most of all I hate having to take them to the fucking mechanic to have a light bulb changed. That right there is symbolic for me of the way cars are designed to extract maximum revenue from their owners.

Also, your favorite music sucks. Now get off my lawn. Merry Christmas.