Monday, January 31, 2005
My Dream Car
My Dream Car
My friend, Steve, and I had lunch today. While sitting there, munching down our veggie burgers at the Riata Bar and Grill, a Brinks Truck pulled into the parking lot.
Other people fantasize about driving fast cars like Ferrari's or maybe luxury cars like a Rolls Royce. Perhaps you fancy a Cadillac? Or an older cool car, like a '55 T-bird? Not me. Me? I want a Brinks Truck.
Sure, they go slow, don't get good gas mileage, are prone to attack (!) but think about it. Just picture yourself sitting in the back, high on pile after pile of moneybags. You could even sneak in some Champagne and find yourself saying things like, "who cares? Just drive! We've got more than enough in this little bag right here to cover gas for the trip there and back." You could even get pretty little Champagne glasses to go with your large caliber sidearms.
I read an interview with Eric Clapton once where he talked about getting an extra long Caddy, "that smelled like cheap whiskey and sex in the back seat," just for the inspiration. He would drive around the Southland, writing songs about that smell and the culture from which it emanated. Imagine how inspiring a Brinks Truck would be. Imagine the smell of all those dead presidents, the sight of greenbacks every way your eye could see, the mounds of cold, hard cash surrounding you like a blanket on a cold winter's day. Talk about a security blanket.
If you had a Brinks Truck and the contents within, you could always buy yourself a Ferrari, a pink Caddy, a Rolls, and crap, even throw in a Humvee for good measure. You could always use the Brinks Truck to buy the other cars but, alas, you can't use the other cars to buy youself a Brinks Truck. And that, my friends, that is why my ultimate fantasy vehicle, my most inspired wheels, my dream buggy is, in fact, a Brinks Truck.
It would have to be that or something that didn't need gas, didn't need oil, never broke down, didn't get repaired, never used tires and basically didn't require me to think about it at all. Pretty much, shy of teleporting there, I want to ride in a Brinks Truck. It's what I call "travelin' in style."
Gives a whole new meaning to the words, "'Got shotgun," doesn't it?
Until next time...
¶ 1:11 PM
--------------------------------------------------------
My friend, Steve, and I had lunch today. While sitting there, munching down our veggie burgers at the Riata Bar and Grill, a Brinks Truck pulled into the parking lot.
Other people fantasize about driving fast cars like Ferrari's or maybe luxury cars like a Rolls Royce. Perhaps you fancy a Cadillac? Or an older cool car, like a '55 T-bird? Not me. Me? I want a Brinks Truck.
Sure, they go slow, don't get good gas mileage, are prone to attack (!) but think about it. Just picture yourself sitting in the back, high on pile after pile of moneybags. You could even sneak in some Champagne and find yourself saying things like, "who cares? Just drive! We've got more than enough in this little bag right here to cover gas for the trip there and back." You could even get pretty little Champagne glasses to go with your large caliber sidearms.
I read an interview with Eric Clapton once where he talked about getting an extra long Caddy, "that smelled like cheap whiskey and sex in the back seat," just for the inspiration. He would drive around the Southland, writing songs about that smell and the culture from which it emanated. Imagine how inspiring a Brinks Truck would be. Imagine the smell of all those dead presidents, the sight of greenbacks every way your eye could see, the mounds of cold, hard cash surrounding you like a blanket on a cold winter's day. Talk about a security blanket.
If you had a Brinks Truck and the contents within, you could always buy yourself a Ferrari, a pink Caddy, a Rolls, and crap, even throw in a Humvee for good measure. You could always use the Brinks Truck to buy the other cars but, alas, you can't use the other cars to buy youself a Brinks Truck. And that, my friends, that is why my ultimate fantasy vehicle, my most inspired wheels, my dream buggy is, in fact, a Brinks Truck.
It would have to be that or something that didn't need gas, didn't need oil, never broke down, didn't get repaired, never used tires and basically didn't require me to think about it at all. Pretty much, shy of teleporting there, I want to ride in a Brinks Truck. It's what I call "travelin' in style."
Gives a whole new meaning to the words, "'Got shotgun," doesn't it?
Until next time...
¶ 1:11 PM
