How cool are you now?

Several days ago I decided to try and sell my car. This is not really a recent decision, it is has been on the market for a while. Unfortunately, the only time I get calls on the car is when Tree drives it.  When people call the number posted on the car it is my belief that were expecting a man, Tree, to answer the phone and I can hear the anticipation drop like a missile. It is clear my ride is not what they are truly interested in experiencing. As a result, I decided to mix things up a bit and scraped my Obama sticker off the rear window and raised the price $1,000. So far no bites, but I’m hopeful – like an Obama condom.

For marketing purposes, I drove my car to the West side yesterday and left it in a “high-traffic” parking lot (in hopes of generating sales) while I headed to visit Q with MyFace. After our meal, Q offered to have me hold her wee one. Within about fifteen minutes of holding her I realized she had peed on me. “Looks like she peed on me,” I said. “Are you sure?” said Q. “Well, I know I didn’t just pee on myself, so, yes.” This incident reminded me of the other day when I was scraping off my Obama sticker and my neighbor, let’s call him Billy, came over and starting making small talk with me. He is an interesting character, probably in his 50s, who is very impressed with himself, regardless of how uncouth he may be. I chatted with him for a bit, but needed to complete the business at hand, so I wasn’t too focused on him; until Billy backed up a bit and I noticed he had a large piss mark on the front of his shorts. How does one not notice this? Especially the owner. Everyone knows the rule, you smelt it, you dealt it. You pissed your pants, you pissed your pants. Too bad he’s not as cool as the real Billy (Madison, that is). If he was, he would have looked down and quipped, “Of course I peed my pants, everyone my age pees their pants. It’s the coolest.”