last of the v8 interceptors...

a quick final chapter about my job, or more accurately, the aggravation that surrounds the people at my job: today we were informed just before lunch by the (holier-than-thou, arrogant) boss that the new guy is indeed, without a shadow of a doubt anymore, the assistant superintendant. at least three people left in a hurry, one squealed his tires in the parking lot. the last two days, we have been laying sod. in the rain. all of us. now, normally when we lay sod, it's all the young fellas, say, 8 of us. when i say "all of us" this time, i mean the oldest guy there who nearly died of cancer last year, the other old guy who usually farts around and manages to miss it, and even the mechanic who has had three foot surgeries and tries to remain seated as much as possible. all. fucking all. except that motherfucking new fucking cunt twat ass-kiss johnny-come-lately who was just handed the assistant superintendant job. he was off fucking around on jobs that weren't really as important as getting the sod down. we also recently received a "team excellence" award for all the hard work we have been doing to improve the course. we were going to get a free breakfast in honor, and all get to go up in front of everyone and receive the award, and as much as we pretended we didn't give a shit, we were pretty proud. yesterday we were informed that due to "human error" the award was actually sposed to go to a different team. so they stripped us of our title, and left us swinging. business as usual at the shop.

the next thing i would like to catch all of you, the beloved non-existant readers who have plugged along with me through so many many things, before we return to our regularly scheduled program, is the car.

or more appropriately, the interceptor. the wife n i have been talking for awhile about getting rid of my honda passport (17 miles to the gallon--ouch!) and looking for something a little more fuel efficient. but i kept holding off because we didn't need a car payment and didn't really have the funds to purchase a decent replacement.

then my neighbor was getting rid of his '93 lincoln mark viii, a car that i had, to be honest, been drooling over nearly since the day i saw it.

the car looks like it angrily ate a t-bird or cougar and is now looking to eat you. evilly-grinning grill, dark purple oxidated paint with the occasional missing flake or rust speck. black plush leather interior, being in the seat is almost like being in your favorite overstuffed chair. all the bells and whistles of a luxury car, but broken in to just the point that i like, and most people hate. a v8 under the hood that roars in hunger when you press the gas.

so how could this car possibly be an improvement in gas mileage over the passport? well you may ask. it averages 23 mpg (on longer trips at higher speeds, it actually averages 28-29 mpg). yeah. a v8. exactly. and has one of the fastest engines ford motor company has cranked out stock. and while 23 mpg isn't the best i could've done, it certainly makes up for it in pure cool-ass vibe.

the other day i was driving down the highway, trying to remember the next line in the song i was singing along with on the radio, and looked over in time to see a late model lexus merging next to me. damn. i could've gotten over, but...

i pushed the gas down, and without even a hiccup the engine sprang into life and i went from 50 to 70 in about 50 feet and left the lexus (who i am sure was trying to keep up alongside me just to be an asshole or prove a point) about a quarter-mile back.

yeah, love my new car.

darth sardonic