Wednesday, November 7, 2007

Naughty Boy

This morning, I was a rebel.  A punk rocker.  Like other punk rockers, driving to work in their Cadillacs, listening to their punk rock on premium satellite radio, commuting to their desk jobs, wearing slacks and sweaters, I was a punk. 

The only problem was that I didn't feel very punk.  In order to really be a punk one must be angry, one must be a rebel.  The I was hit with a stroke of genius!  Thanks to the politically correct age we live in, I had the perfect way to express my rebelliousness!  I would throw off my shackles of fuel economy!  When the next stop light turned green, I let my accelerator foot sink all the way to floor.

The car was stunned.  It paused in disbelief.  It probably wondered if I had completely lost my composure.  I had.  After reflecting on the oddity of the moment for a few seconds, the car roared into compliance.  Well, it roared as much as a twelve year old family sedan can roar.

As we accelerated, I stared in disbelief at the fuel gauge.  It was mobile!  My wallet started to ache in my back pocket.  All too soon, I reached the speed limit of 35 miles per hour and let my foot slacken.  No use in getting a speeding ticket.  I'm not that punk.

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