UnpleasantlySexy

While desperately trying to NOT sleep at work today, I became...involved in a conversation about car repair, car parts, junk yards, and used car buying with my coworker. Blah blah and more blah.

The discussion needed some spice. A little seasoning, if you will.

So I added that, if I could do anything to my already-a-chick-magnet minivan, it would be to install a tailgunner emplacement in the back. You know, like a B-52 ball turret? With big machine guns and such?

I could send Julia to "man the turret" while I piloted down residential streets at unsafe speeds. We could communicate via headsets, and, of course...there would be those cool Star Wars-esque targeting crosshairs.

I was gonna say that I would like some pop-up, roof-mounted bazookas, but that seemed, somehow, less feasible.

If I were unable to acquire any of these cool upgrades, however, the backup plan would be to just push heavy stuff out the back door while driving. I envisioned a large ACME-brand safe on casters. Or anvils. Anvils would definitely get the job done. Damn tailgaters. It's a minivan, not a Ferrari. Go around!

Besides, how fast can a van go when it's powered by raw sexual energy?

Not all that fast, as it turns out.



S