126...Minacca Ride

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Let's go for a ride, shall we?

Get your shit ready baby.

Drink, puff, whatever you want.

Sean made his way down the red-tiled steps on the exit side of the brass hand rail that ran up the middle of them outside in fresh air, smiling in the warmth of a late winter day’s fading sunlight.


Those who walked up these stairs on the other side noticed his smile and their pace quickened to get inside. They wanted to get their smile on like he wore.


Minacca held the door open for him to slink into the front seat, then she closed his door and went around to climb in back over the driver’s seat, in her short skirt.



I pushed the seat back and slid into the front seat, and then we jetted back to the hostibal. Minacca needed to get her car.


She pointed it out in the parking lot by the admissions entrance. “There she is,” Minacca said in a quiet apology.


Back then, one did not often hear females calling their rides “she.” It was usually “it.”



Nowadays, there are as many female gear-heads as there are male. We have all come a long way, baby.


We were stopped near a puke-green rust bucket that frowned sadly at us with a busted grill. I felt bad for Minacca and her fucked up shit. Poor thing.



I helped Minacca crawl out from the rear recess of my car, she in her low-cut top. She clicked her key fob and the lights of a restored and updated ’68 Karmann Ghia convertible flashed, and the sentry system squawked loud and brief in hello.





























Hah?


It was white, in a pearly sort of refractive paint.

The white changed colors depending on your angle to it.






The rag top proceeded to roll down by itself. The engine purred awake.



Hah?


Minacca’s face flushed a bit, and she said, “Where do we go next?”


Sean, that fucker, he was smiling his biggest smile, watching my face. He turned back to his lady and said, “We going to your place, babe. I’m riding with my boy here.”



Minacca’s shoulders slumped. No, not in the manner that tall chicks often do in order to not stick out so much, but because of a sort of resignation. She was resigned to showing me her home. Probably she lived in a slum, and had spent all her hard earned money on her ride.



Yeah, that was it.



My Celica kept up with her quite easily in traffic, except that I noticed how she could change lanes and zoom around cars with tight suspension. Zip, Click, Bam.


Being a fully-poor half-Injun, I only dreamed of someday outfitting my own car with such excellent response. Perhaps I would. It looked like her car was fun to drive, more fun than my own.



Yeah, I was digging her ride, and I wasn’t even driving it. It was like looking through the key hole. Vicarious: Voyeur.

So we headed to the west side where old money lived. It seemed that old money was on the off skirts of Fuckno, from Sunnyside on the south east where Little Lion Man Joey would soon be moving, and also up in Clovis, beyond the top East side of Fuckno.


And where we were heading, up on the north western side where Tellesco’s stately ranch had once stood.



She probably lived in a shack out on the edge of a farm or something, and her folks were the servants and gardeners to a rich family.



Of course. That was how Sean operated. He liked to associate with poor folks, as he and his own fambly was.


+++++++++++++++++++++++++++


Elm trees lined the tar driveway on both sides, and as we drove up the long lane, a small building in the distance grew larger. Windows twinkled in the light of streetlamps, and the building began to spread its wings.


The windows twinkled up higher and higher, until there were three levels of them, and then the front fountain came into view.



Beyond that, the front doors loomed high under the columns.



We circled around the huge fountain on the right side of it, and stopped in front of the mansion.




Yeah, Minacca probably lived in the cellar of the ---



----ok, shut the fuck up.





Minacca was a rich bitch.



Really rich.



Huh.







LINKS




For Minacca. That chick from three decades ago who knew how to improve a vehicle.




She was pretty cool, because she was smart.




Even if being rich can suck sometimes…




But, there's this:


Do you have game? Can you play, in the money arena thing?








We need to hold on to our own shit. We need to protect our little piece of the planet, true? Check out your tiny piece of our planet, the only one in existence anywhere in the whole creation of our Lord Jeebus?



Because, well, you know, there is only one planet like ours in our solar system, in our galaxy, of which there is only one, which we call the Milky Way, which is also a delicious candy bar. Our Lord created only one galaxy, right?








Back here on our home planet, we continuously look for ways to explore each others’ bodies, especially when we are not supposed to do such a thing.






And it comes down to our own little planets. Will Google overtake Facebook? How?




Just try to fuck up our little planet, would ya? If you do, don’t leave the lights on after we close the door.







God Help You.

God Help Us All.



---willies out.













OK, one more for ya. Banksy. Ya know.








I’m off to a weekend of debauchery at a pig roast. See you next time, my friend.

















A TDC Forum Member once shut down a board. He shut down Ze Frank’s board by being a troll. Now who, exactly has that luminous skill?

Before we go there, here’s a video that Ze Frank posted of a talk he gave on TED. If you don’t know TED, then you should know that it is comprised of the brightest and best of thinkers in the world.



And here’s the thread where our TDC member killed a forum.


















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