There are multiple stories of classic crashes on the Galactic Peace Tour and you all like those. Great entertainment is always better with a car chase and some smashed-up vehicles. My family is happy to serve these up to you and, sho' 'nuff, there are more. The evidence is in the sidebar as big crashes are No. 1 and No. 2.
(Ed: how long has this fookin' Galactic Peace Tour been running? Couldn't be too long?)
That's where you are wrong, dear Sherlock, as the Galactic Peace Tour has been touring ever since 1848 in the Peloponnese in Greece when we were sitting around a campfire in the evening after tending the herd of sheep all day. The sheep were all settled and we were blowing some ganja around the campfire and Xerxes came up with the idea, "Man, we need a Galactic Peace Tour."
The first reaction was, "What is a fookin' Galactic Peace Tour?"
Xerxes was bubbling with rebellious enthusiasm as he recalled he had been told the Niagara Falls had stopped because of an ice jam the previous day. He said when the powers of nature can stop the Niagara Falls then the powers of peace can stop war in this world, other worlds, the entire galaxy.
Note: really hasppened. March 29th, 1848
Of course all us responded, wow, man, that's really heavy.
Note: today we bow our heads in silence at the loss of the word 'heavy' which had been cool but which was murdered by The Hollies with "He Ain't Heavy, He's My Brother."
So then Xerxes said, so, brother, could I take another hit off that bong?
(Ed: so where is the car crash?)
We didn't even finish the intro yet.
So you like the ones with crashes ... so long as crashes really happen. There's another article which teases about a crash but it doesn't deliver one. Where you fooled? Hell nooooooo. There's some really elegant and extremely-fast riding in that article but you're wanting the smash-'em-up blood and guts. (Blog: So, You're Looking for Crash Stories)
Note to Lotho: the record clearly shows they want mayhem and explosions and the record shows I did give a credible try to showing the other side of it ... but ... what can I do other than cater to these banal tastes.
(Ed: you have banal tastes)
Right, matey. That's why it is a good match.
This one does not involve the usual cast of characters since Lotho isn't in it nor is Rick the Gooser. Cadillac Man hadn't even joined the Tour yet and the only ones going back longer than he are family.
This was back in the times of the Glorious Week-End Sex Cruise which has almost no chance of success because only an absolutely desperate female is likely to yield anything but a flying bird to cruising teenage fuckwits.
And so we were cruising, driveling teenage fuckwits such as we were, and in the car was the driver and he was me ... but it was not my car. I was often the designated driver as I really didn't like driving drunk but my friend, Barbels, had a powerful thirst for his brew so he was the passenger ... and he drank. When it's only 3.2% alcohol (i.e. for underage drinkers), you have to drink one hell of a lot of it to do anything.
There was someone in the middle who was a non-regular but I'm not sure who it was. I didn't like drinking all that much but I (cough) somehow forced myself to do it.
Note: he was not called Barbels because he lifted weights but rather because his teenage mustache only showed a few whiskers over each side of his mouth ... so he looked kind of like a catfish.
The three of us were tooling around Cincinnati on this Friday night as there were chicks out there, we just had to find them. The three of us were sitting up in front in a '67 Chevelle which Barbells got the way all middle class teenage boys got a car: his father bought it for him. Barbels was a fellow extraordinary entitlement as his family had a certain means and it was Barbels' intention to waste every dime of it.
So, there we were cruising down the road on that evening, the streetlights shining off a street still a bit wet from a recent rain, and a sparkling vision of the way which only testosterone and the wild search for some leg can make clear.
It was at this joyous moment when I saw a flash of light to my left and ...
HOLY SHIT! THAT MUDDAFUGGA IS ROLLING!
KA-BOOOOOMMMMMM
A car from a side street had been sitting there waiting for his move when he suddenly went for it. He couldn't have hit the side of the car I was driving more precisely if had aimed for it.
The impact sent the Chevelle into a slide and there's no time to say anything but the next logical utterance might have been, uh, oh, your turn, Barbels.
HOLY SHIT! WE'RE GOING TO HIT THE FOOKIN' POLE!
KA-BOOOOOOMMMMMM
Direct hit to the passenger side door and, with that, an almost-new automobile was reduced to complete wreckage in only seconds. The left side of the vehicle was smashed all to hell by the hit from the car and the right side of the vehicle was smashed all to hell to match it by the pole. A car could be driven through a demolition derby and sustain less damage.
The crash did not, amazingly enough, reduce the occupants of the vehicle (i.e. Barbels, some unidentified traveler, and me) to the level of packaged products for the meat department in the supermarket. It really didn't do much as we were young and stupid but we did wear seat belts.
(Ed: you have to wear seat belts. The car won't start if you don't.)
Not true back then. Seat belts were optional equipment.
There must be a moral in this story but damned if I can see it. One thing I learned was absolutely do not ever have children because sure as hell they will act the same way. If I do by some bizarre twist of fate end up with children then don't give them cars ... ever. Or maybe when they're twenty-eight ... or not.
(Ed: how long has this fookin' Galactic Peace Tour been running? Couldn't be too long?)
That's where you are wrong, dear Sherlock, as the Galactic Peace Tour has been touring ever since 1848 in the Peloponnese in Greece when we were sitting around a campfire in the evening after tending the herd of sheep all day. The sheep were all settled and we were blowing some ganja around the campfire and Xerxes came up with the idea, "Man, we need a Galactic Peace Tour."
The first reaction was, "What is a fookin' Galactic Peace Tour?"
Xerxes was bubbling with rebellious enthusiasm as he recalled he had been told the Niagara Falls had stopped because of an ice jam the previous day. He said when the powers of nature can stop the Niagara Falls then the powers of peace can stop war in this world, other worlds, the entire galaxy.
Note: really hasppened. March 29th, 1848
Of course all us responded, wow, man, that's really heavy.
Note: today we bow our heads in silence at the loss of the word 'heavy' which had been cool but which was murdered by The Hollies with "He Ain't Heavy, He's My Brother."
So then Xerxes said, so, brother, could I take another hit off that bong?
(Ed: so where is the car crash?)
We didn't even finish the intro yet.
So you like the ones with crashes ... so long as crashes really happen. There's another article which teases about a crash but it doesn't deliver one. Where you fooled? Hell nooooooo. There's some really elegant and extremely-fast riding in that article but you're wanting the smash-'em-up blood and guts. (Blog: So, You're Looking for Crash Stories)
Note to Lotho: the record clearly shows they want mayhem and explosions and the record shows I did give a credible try to showing the other side of it ... but ... what can I do other than cater to these banal tastes.
(Ed: you have banal tastes)
Right, matey. That's why it is a good match.
This one does not involve the usual cast of characters since Lotho isn't in it nor is Rick the Gooser. Cadillac Man hadn't even joined the Tour yet and the only ones going back longer than he are family.
This was back in the times of the Glorious Week-End Sex Cruise which has almost no chance of success because only an absolutely desperate female is likely to yield anything but a flying bird to cruising teenage fuckwits.
And so we were cruising, driveling teenage fuckwits such as we were, and in the car was the driver and he was me ... but it was not my car. I was often the designated driver as I really didn't like driving drunk but my friend, Barbels, had a powerful thirst for his brew so he was the passenger ... and he drank. When it's only 3.2% alcohol (i.e. for underage drinkers), you have to drink one hell of a lot of it to do anything.
There was someone in the middle who was a non-regular but I'm not sure who it was. I didn't like drinking all that much but I (cough) somehow forced myself to do it.
Note: he was not called Barbels because he lifted weights but rather because his teenage mustache only showed a few whiskers over each side of his mouth ... so he looked kind of like a catfish.
The three of us were tooling around Cincinnati on this Friday night as there were chicks out there, we just had to find them. The three of us were sitting up in front in a '67 Chevelle which Barbells got the way all middle class teenage boys got a car: his father bought it for him. Barbels was a fellow extraordinary entitlement as his family had a certain means and it was Barbels' intention to waste every dime of it.
So, there we were cruising down the road on that evening, the streetlights shining off a street still a bit wet from a recent rain, and a sparkling vision of the way which only testosterone and the wild search for some leg can make clear.
It was at this joyous moment when I saw a flash of light to my left and ...
HOLY SHIT! THAT MUDDAFUGGA IS ROLLING!
KA-BOOOOOMMMMMM
A car from a side street had been sitting there waiting for his move when he suddenly went for it. He couldn't have hit the side of the car I was driving more precisely if had aimed for it.
The impact sent the Chevelle into a slide and there's no time to say anything but the next logical utterance might have been, uh, oh, your turn, Barbels.
HOLY SHIT! WE'RE GOING TO HIT THE FOOKIN' POLE!
KA-BOOOOOOMMMMMM
Direct hit to the passenger side door and, with that, an almost-new automobile was reduced to complete wreckage in only seconds. The left side of the vehicle was smashed all to hell by the hit from the car and the right side of the vehicle was smashed all to hell to match it by the pole. A car could be driven through a demolition derby and sustain less damage.
The crash did not, amazingly enough, reduce the occupants of the vehicle (i.e. Barbels, some unidentified traveler, and me) to the level of packaged products for the meat department in the supermarket. It really didn't do much as we were young and stupid but we did wear seat belts.
(Ed: you have to wear seat belts. The car won't start if you don't.)
Not true back then. Seat belts were optional equipment.
There must be a moral in this story but damned if I can see it. One thing I learned was absolutely do not ever have children because sure as hell they will act the same way. If I do by some bizarre twist of fate end up with children then don't give them cars ... ever. Or maybe when they're twenty-eight ... or not.
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