I'm getting all metaphysical and shit

Oh, blog. I left you with a bare chassis; I'm such a pervert. The skeleton bones of my dream car laid bare for all the world to see. See? Again:

Which is worse, to be laid bare on the Internets or to be stranded somewheres in the Alabama?

             Insert stereotypical picture of pickup truck-driving
             bubba with a gun here.

             Insert 80s Tron-like image of the Internets here.

             Compare.

I'm thinking the AL cause it's a hell of a lot less metaphysical.

And yeah, I've been drinking cheap Trader Joe's champagne I brought all the way with me from the North and yeah, I know that's against the law and oh boy, what a badass I gddamned am and yeah, I'm just too damn lazy to find images on the Internets and that's why I'm going all metaphysical and shit and torturing you with the bared bones of a 1970 Dodge Challenger minus the chartreuse exterior minus the engine minus me looking cool at the wheel or hell I'll even take the passenger seat if you can look cool at the wheel and by cool I mean serious hand tatts that don't say love and hate and if they do say love and hate they do it in such a way as to bring attention to the cliched nature of the message and of hand tatts themselves, in such a cliched way that the cliches become cool because we all know irony we all celebrate irony there is nothing but irony left in this world and that is why I'm so earnest and that is why I like steampunk accessories and that is why I'm stuck here in Alabama and that is why I'm writing to you, dear bloggy.

I've come full circle already. My nose tickles cause I gots to drink this champagne quick before it gets warm. I'm waiting to hear from an agent cause like I told you, I'm earnest and I never gives up. There are no correlations to be found in any of this and that's what makes it all so goddamned linear and rational.

I was driving down a main thoroughfare somewheres in the Alabamas and I saw a neon sign that said, Glock. Is that the springtime equivalent of the robin for gunheads? Is it the equivalent of spring fashions, the soft pastels, for the NRA? Why was this sign spelling out Glock and should I go get one?

When the shit goes down, I do not want to be stuck in the Alabamas without a gun.

Before the shit goes down, check out more of my stuff on the Internets: http://dogzplot.blogspot.com/.

Babies + guns = extreme, sublime about to meet some kind of fucking maker terror,
Ry