Well, this really dosen't matter as an entry, I just
read my earlier pieces, kinda made them look a little
prettier, did some spacing that was easier on the eyes, but
I happen to realize that I had promised to talk about my
Pimpmobile and how I knew a heroine addict.
So, my car. Yes, my pimpmobile. His name is Bernard.
He's a white Buick Lasabre and he's 14 years old. He's a
crotchity old man who hates cold weather and having to move
or stop too quickly. He's got a temper though, he can go
ninety easy and he bullies other cars off the road if they
go too slow. He's on like...super viagra for cars. Interior
wise, he's got blue plush velvet seating and fake wood
paneling, not to mention my car guardian, Luki, a purple
feathery, wooden head from Hawaii, hanging from the
He rules the road.
The heroine addict, I must say is a different
story...maybe for later. It has to do with my deamons from
the past, since we all have them, and my first, which I
don't know if that's ever come up in conversation before.
But, it might be a story for later, for another time when I
feel like writing the histories of the world and can't
think of anything to write.