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Sitting in my '68 Mustang, waiting on the busy Strip to take a left turn into Der Wienerschnitzel, I hear a quick screeching of tires and then bam! I'm hit from behind.
I get out to survey the damage. As I walk to the back of my car, I see the idiot who hit me, his land yacht with broken headlights, shattered grill, and clanking fan. Severe.
With dread, I look at my car. You remember that gas cap with the Mustang logo under plastic window? The plastic had an almost invisible crack in it. That was it.
I just let the obviously-intoxicated punk drive away, dribbling glass and clanking hilariously. I was young and unhurt. And I wanted my chili dog.
Funny the things that vividly stick in memory.

Don't ask me. I'm just here to pick up chicks.
"This is what it sounds like to not have an accent."
Damien Lodes


"If they force us to choose, the choice between dogs and Muslims is not a difficult one."
Conservative Momma



Sitting in my room one day, friends asked about my lack of accent. I tried to imitate a rural Oklahoma accent. Naw, I said, that's more Deep South. I tried another accent, but decided that was too South Texas. Again I tried an accent, but, no, that was more Arkansas-Missouri hillbilly.
It was at that moment that the only other student there from Oklahoma was looking for me, and from down the hall, we heard this loud gal's voice hollering, "Wharr's th' gaahyy from OAK-luh-HOma?"
I exclaimed, "That's it! That's the accent!" Followed by, "Quick! Close the door!"
True story.