paulthenurse
Fecal Transplant Super Donor
- Joined
- May 14, 2007
- Messages
- 12,277
- Reaction score
- 2,207
I need to tell you guys that I don't like cars. Not that I have anything against cars or anything, I'm just not a car guy. Some folks like BigJohn or Melana or 0llll0 are really into their cars and consider them part of the family and stuff and that's cool for them. I don't get it, to me it's a bunch of nuts and bolts that someone put together and it manages to get me back and forth to work or to the LHBS. That's all I need in a car. I've never once felt my pulse quicken because of a car. Boobies and beer, yes. Tires and motors, not so much. So that goes a long way towards explaining what happened, I just don't pay attention to my car.
So on Thursday of last week I notice that my inspection sticker on my windshield is expired. In fact it expired in May. Like I said, I know were the gas goes and that's more than enough for me. So I go to the gas station up the street on Friday to get a new inspection sticker and the dude there tells me that he can't do my inspecton sticker cause my registration has been revolked. Huh? Why's that? He can't tell me so I drive over to my insurance agent. He tells me that I have an unpaid parking ticket from Cambridge from one year ago. Now on the rare occasions I go to Cambridge I go to one of two places, either to Modern Homebrew on Mass Ave, or to my aunt's convent. I haven't been by the convent in ages and I don't remember going to MHB in forever. One thing I do know is that there has never been any ticket on my window at either place. But what am I going to do? Tell them it wasn't me and they have the wrong truck? Ya they'll belive that, sure they will. The ticket is on my license plate, it's unpaid and I'm going to have to pay it to get my car back registered.
So I hop in the truck and rive over to Cambridge, knowing fullw ell that I was playing with fire, driving without a valid registration or nspection sticker. Of course I've been doing that for months without knowing it but knowing it adds a whole new dmension of pucker factor. I see 4 cops on the way there but only one of them is even looking in my general direction so I don't get stopped. I get to the Cambridge City Hall and they are closed. The barstids close at noon on Fridays. So I have to drive home without having acclomplished what I set out to do. So the truck goes in the driveway and it stays there all weekend. The couple of errands I needed to do waited till Al got home or the ones that were close I walked to.
Fortunately over the weekend it occured t me that perhaps I could pay the ticket online, I check and sure enough you can, so $90 later I am good with the city of Cambridge.
So Monday I call to make sure that they have released the hold on my registration. Of course they hadn't. She tells me that they don't releae it untill ou call them. I give the lady all my stuff and she goes and finds that I have paid the ticket ans so she releases the hold. So now I'm good to go to the Registry of Motor Vehicles.
I find a Registry and go in and there have to be 1000 people already there waiting. I take my little deli number and settle down to wait. The Registry has taken a lot of heat over the years for being a big impersonal government beaurocracy so to help pass the time they have installed Registry TV. Did you know that Lord Tennyson, author of The Charge of the Light Bregade was Englends most famous poet named Alfred? Or that over 100,000 people in Mexico City danced to Thriller on Micheal Jacksons 51st birthday?
So I'm sitting there holding my number A-193 in my hand, waiting my turn. After an hour or so I see someone I know so I put my papers down on the bench next to me and go ove to say hi. We chat for a few minutes and then I go back to my spot. While I've been gone some lady has come and taken the empty spot next to me. She is a nice enough lady but she is rather oddly shaped. She has the biggest ass I've ever seen. I mean her ass is remarkable. She looks like the top of her body has been cut off and plunked down on top of an ass shaped cupcake. Her ass has it's own geographic zones. Her ass has it's own gravitational pull, as I found out the hard way. And, of course, she was wearing spandex. What else would she be wearing?
And she wants to talk. To me. That seems to happen to me a lot lately. I had some whackjob broad chatting my ear off at the airport in Charlotte a few months ago. I couldn't get away from her. She told me all about her trip and how long and how high and how hot and how cold and the food and I just wanted to kill myself after 15 minutes of it. And now this chick with the enormous ass starts yakking my ear off. I'm tryin gto be polite so I go along with it for a while.
I notice that she has a tatoo on her arm, there are 4 or 5 columns of Chinese charactors with 8 or 10 charactors per column. And against my better judgement I ask her what the tatoo means. And she looks at me, as serious as a heart attack, and says "She Walks in the Willows with Pandas."
"What?"
"She Walks in the Willows with Pandas."
And so I ask the only logical question, "Have you ever walked in the willows with pandas?" And she gives me a dirty look and says no but the quotation "speaks" to her. So I ask her if she's ever been to China, knowing full well that she's never been further east than East Boston, and again she gives me the withering look and says no.
"Do you speak Chinese?" "No."
"So how do you know that that's what it says?"
And she looks at me like I've got three heads and says, "Cause that's what the artist at the tatoo parlor told me."
"Was he Chinese? Aren't you just a little afraid that you have the menu for Wong's Peking Palace tattood on you arm?"
At that point she sniffed and pointedly turned away and didn't speak to me any more. I felt victorious.
Shortly after that they called my number and I get to the window and start telling my tale of woe to the lady behind the counter when some girl behind me says, "Excuse me but it's my turn."
And I ignore her and keep on telling my tale. But the lady behind the counter, sensing some skulldugery asks for her ticket. And she's goy A-193. So the lady turns to me and asks for my ticket. And I can't find it. It's gone. "But that's my ticket."
"I'm sorry, Sir but she clearly has the correct ticket and you don't. I'm going to have to ask you to go get back in line."
"But I've been sitting out thee for almost two hours!"
"I'm sorry sir, she has the ticket, you don't, there is nothing I can do."
So I go back to the waiting area, go back to the ticket lady and tell her my story and she lstens for a few seconds and thn says, "Do you want another ticket or what?"
I have no choice, I have to get the truck registered so I take the ticket and go sit back down in the same spot I was in before. Fortunately, after one quick look and determining that it was me again, my neighor goes back to ingoring me.
So I sit and wait some more. Another 45 minutes goes by.
Near as I can figure I've got a good hour still ahead of me when Fat Ass's number gets called. She stands up and goes to walk away and there is my deli slip number stuck in the crack of her ass. Her ass was so freaking big I swear it has it's own gravitational field and it sucked up my number.
And this is where the story starts to get weird. You've heard about people having out of body experiences? I had one right then. I saw my hand reach out towards her ass. My mind was screaming out "NOOOOOOO!!!!! DON'T DOOOO IT!" but I wasn't in control of my arm. And I reached over and plucked my number from the Grand Canyon that is her ass. I look at the slip of paper and it said A-194. 194??? I thought it was 193! That's ok, I've got the slip and if I just go explain everything they will let me do my thing and i can get out ot there.
And, of course, she felt me grab the slip. She wipped around on me and started screaming at me for grabbing her ass. I tried explainig what happened but the more I showed her the slip the louder she got. Before you know it there is a State Trooper standing there asking what is going on. I know with absolute certainty that I'm going to have a heart attack. And the Trooper asks me what happened and I explain about the little deli number and how I was number A-193 and when I got to the counter I didn't have the numer anymore and someone else did and how I got another ticket and sat back down and then she stood up and there was my ticket stuck in the crack of her ass and how I'd been there for over three hours already and I just wanted to go.
And he says "Come with me."
And I just know I'm going to get arrested and my face is going to be on the front page of the Boston Globe and I know for an absolute certaintly that I'm going to have a heart attack. And he takes me to the counter and has someone process my paperwork and I'm out the door in 5 minutes. I'm at a gas station in 10, have an new inspection sticker in 15 and was at a bar chugging my second pint in 20.
There has to be a moral to this story somewhere>
PTN
So on Thursday of last week I notice that my inspection sticker on my windshield is expired. In fact it expired in May. Like I said, I know were the gas goes and that's more than enough for me. So I go to the gas station up the street on Friday to get a new inspection sticker and the dude there tells me that he can't do my inspecton sticker cause my registration has been revolked. Huh? Why's that? He can't tell me so I drive over to my insurance agent. He tells me that I have an unpaid parking ticket from Cambridge from one year ago. Now on the rare occasions I go to Cambridge I go to one of two places, either to Modern Homebrew on Mass Ave, or to my aunt's convent. I haven't been by the convent in ages and I don't remember going to MHB in forever. One thing I do know is that there has never been any ticket on my window at either place. But what am I going to do? Tell them it wasn't me and they have the wrong truck? Ya they'll belive that, sure they will. The ticket is on my license plate, it's unpaid and I'm going to have to pay it to get my car back registered.
So I hop in the truck and rive over to Cambridge, knowing fullw ell that I was playing with fire, driving without a valid registration or nspection sticker. Of course I've been doing that for months without knowing it but knowing it adds a whole new dmension of pucker factor. I see 4 cops on the way there but only one of them is even looking in my general direction so I don't get stopped. I get to the Cambridge City Hall and they are closed. The barstids close at noon on Fridays. So I have to drive home without having acclomplished what I set out to do. So the truck goes in the driveway and it stays there all weekend. The couple of errands I needed to do waited till Al got home or the ones that were close I walked to.
Fortunately over the weekend it occured t me that perhaps I could pay the ticket online, I check and sure enough you can, so $90 later I am good with the city of Cambridge.
So Monday I call to make sure that they have released the hold on my registration. Of course they hadn't. She tells me that they don't releae it untill ou call them. I give the lady all my stuff and she goes and finds that I have paid the ticket ans so she releases the hold. So now I'm good to go to the Registry of Motor Vehicles.
I find a Registry and go in and there have to be 1000 people already there waiting. I take my little deli number and settle down to wait. The Registry has taken a lot of heat over the years for being a big impersonal government beaurocracy so to help pass the time they have installed Registry TV. Did you know that Lord Tennyson, author of The Charge of the Light Bregade was Englends most famous poet named Alfred? Or that over 100,000 people in Mexico City danced to Thriller on Micheal Jacksons 51st birthday?
So I'm sitting there holding my number A-193 in my hand, waiting my turn. After an hour or so I see someone I know so I put my papers down on the bench next to me and go ove to say hi. We chat for a few minutes and then I go back to my spot. While I've been gone some lady has come and taken the empty spot next to me. She is a nice enough lady but she is rather oddly shaped. She has the biggest ass I've ever seen. I mean her ass is remarkable. She looks like the top of her body has been cut off and plunked down on top of an ass shaped cupcake. Her ass has it's own geographic zones. Her ass has it's own gravitational pull, as I found out the hard way. And, of course, she was wearing spandex. What else would she be wearing?
And she wants to talk. To me. That seems to happen to me a lot lately. I had some whackjob broad chatting my ear off at the airport in Charlotte a few months ago. I couldn't get away from her. She told me all about her trip and how long and how high and how hot and how cold and the food and I just wanted to kill myself after 15 minutes of it. And now this chick with the enormous ass starts yakking my ear off. I'm tryin gto be polite so I go along with it for a while.
I notice that she has a tatoo on her arm, there are 4 or 5 columns of Chinese charactors with 8 or 10 charactors per column. And against my better judgement I ask her what the tatoo means. And she looks at me, as serious as a heart attack, and says "She Walks in the Willows with Pandas."
"What?"
"She Walks in the Willows with Pandas."
And so I ask the only logical question, "Have you ever walked in the willows with pandas?" And she gives me a dirty look and says no but the quotation "speaks" to her. So I ask her if she's ever been to China, knowing full well that she's never been further east than East Boston, and again she gives me the withering look and says no.
"Do you speak Chinese?" "No."
"So how do you know that that's what it says?"
And she looks at me like I've got three heads and says, "Cause that's what the artist at the tatoo parlor told me."
"Was he Chinese? Aren't you just a little afraid that you have the menu for Wong's Peking Palace tattood on you arm?"
At that point she sniffed and pointedly turned away and didn't speak to me any more. I felt victorious.
Shortly after that they called my number and I get to the window and start telling my tale of woe to the lady behind the counter when some girl behind me says, "Excuse me but it's my turn."
And I ignore her and keep on telling my tale. But the lady behind the counter, sensing some skulldugery asks for her ticket. And she's goy A-193. So the lady turns to me and asks for my ticket. And I can't find it. It's gone. "But that's my ticket."
"I'm sorry, Sir but she clearly has the correct ticket and you don't. I'm going to have to ask you to go get back in line."
"But I've been sitting out thee for almost two hours!"
"I'm sorry sir, she has the ticket, you don't, there is nothing I can do."
So I go back to the waiting area, go back to the ticket lady and tell her my story and she lstens for a few seconds and thn says, "Do you want another ticket or what?"
I have no choice, I have to get the truck registered so I take the ticket and go sit back down in the same spot I was in before. Fortunately, after one quick look and determining that it was me again, my neighor goes back to ingoring me.
So I sit and wait some more. Another 45 minutes goes by.
Near as I can figure I've got a good hour still ahead of me when Fat Ass's number gets called. She stands up and goes to walk away and there is my deli slip number stuck in the crack of her ass. Her ass was so freaking big I swear it has it's own gravitational field and it sucked up my number.
And this is where the story starts to get weird. You've heard about people having out of body experiences? I had one right then. I saw my hand reach out towards her ass. My mind was screaming out "NOOOOOOO!!!!! DON'T DOOOO IT!" but I wasn't in control of my arm. And I reached over and plucked my number from the Grand Canyon that is her ass. I look at the slip of paper and it said A-194. 194??? I thought it was 193! That's ok, I've got the slip and if I just go explain everything they will let me do my thing and i can get out ot there.
And, of course, she felt me grab the slip. She wipped around on me and started screaming at me for grabbing her ass. I tried explainig what happened but the more I showed her the slip the louder she got. Before you know it there is a State Trooper standing there asking what is going on. I know with absolute certainty that I'm going to have a heart attack. And the Trooper asks me what happened and I explain about the little deli number and how I was number A-193 and when I got to the counter I didn't have the numer anymore and someone else did and how I got another ticket and sat back down and then she stood up and there was my ticket stuck in the crack of her ass and how I'd been there for over three hours already and I just wanted to go.
And he says "Come with me."
And I just know I'm going to get arrested and my face is going to be on the front page of the Boston Globe and I know for an absolute certaintly that I'm going to have a heart attack. And he takes me to the counter and has someone process my paperwork and I'm out the door in 5 minutes. I'm at a gas station in 10, have an new inspection sticker in 15 and was at a bar chugging my second pint in 20.
There has to be a moral to this story somewhere>
PTN
