My second thought was, "Oh! Looky who's beside me. It's Mr. Important and he's white-knuckling his steering wheel because he's pissed that he's late and we underlings have the audacity to drive on his own private highway. I think I'll sit here and smile and wave to him. That'll cheer him up. Oh. Oh my. Maybe not."
I then had a life-altering realization. It was damn close to an epiphany. All that was missing was the virgin, bright lights, midgets and a host of heavenly angels singing.
No wait. That's my recipe for freaky circus sex. Do you think I should throw in a dancing poodle who wears tap pants and a push-up bra?
Anyhooha, my life-altering realization was that I hate stretch limos. Detest them. They're tacky. Ugly. Pretentious. Faux riche. Alright, why do we have to italicize foreign words when first introduced into a piece of writing? Do the grammar rule people think we really won't know when words aren't written in our native language unless they're like this? By the way, did you know that even though Americans spell "italicize" and other -ize words with a "z" and the British use an "s", the "z" is really the old, old English spelling and the British changed it to "s", but then those fun-loving Pilgrims changed it back to "z" after they took that pleasure cruise on the Mayflower? That's the kind of thing I learn by listening to NPR. It's probably all a big, fat lie.
Did you also know that this is exactly the way I really carry on a conversation, and when I constantly interrupt my train of thought with useless drivel, it drives Thomas and his penis crazy? It drives him crazy because it takes me forever to get to the fucking point and it drives his penis crazy because he finds my rambling to be endearing. And I know that by endearing he means sexually arousing. (For those of you wondering why I just painfully interjected my husband's member into the conversation, you have to read the comment Fwig left on my previous post.)
Christ on a stick, what the hell was I talking about?
Oh yeah. Stretch limousines. Every time I see one, I think that the person lurking behind the tinted glass is some backhill inbred who just received the check from his insurance settlement and decided to wisely spend a portion of his fortune on a limousine rental. He will then head down to "Skeeter's Bar and Bait Shop" to show the boys his new-found wealth, and let them know he'll be "livin' high on the hog from now on, by god". Or at least until his windfall of 1500 bucks is frittered away. He will have somehow managed to mount a gun rack onto the grill of the limo, and will be using the Scotch decanter as a spit cup. All the while Sweet Home, Alabama will be threatening to utterly demolish the speakers and his highly intoxicated wife will be flashing her saggy boobies out of the sun roof.
Limousines are also too big. And I hate them.
Okay. Well, that was neither life-altering nor an epiphany after all, was it? But, should anyone want to impress me with a vehicle, this is one that would do it.
I just thought you should know.
The Bablatrice - who really did drag you through all that just so she could show you a picture of a pretty car. You are welcome.