I have previously mentioned my suspicions that there was no such thing as “air bags in our cars.”
People debated. Auto makers declined to respond. I poked and prodded my steering wheel with sharp objects that under normal collision situations would coax the elusive airbag from its darkened home. I did research online to see if (other than car commercials and car company websites) there were any sightings of an actual airbag being deployed. If people involved in accidents (pre-settlement) ever mentioned seeing one engage.
But nothing prepared me for my trip to the car dealership where all would become clear.
Big Brother is totally taking control.
Besides all the cameras now perched secretly on our street corners and all the electronic control the overlords have (credit cards, electronic banking, Internet, etc.) I recently became aware of an even darker and more secret plan to control us without us even knowing. And would you believe that it has to do with space inside your own car?
Apparently, your glove compartment is not yours.
On a recent trip to get my car serviced, I cleaned out all the car manuals and car service advertisements and car service pamphlets and stuffed them in a garbage bag in my trunk. I replaced the glove compartment with some CDs, my iPOD and a slew of other personal effects including my Hot Wheels diecast A-Team van, signed by George Pepard. Then I locked the glove compartment because, let’s be honest, who needs access to “my glove compartment?”
Do you have a new car?
Does your car come equipped with one of those “OnStar” or “SOS” buttons inside it? The kind where, if god forbid your car was hanging off an embankment, you would press and scream into so the authorities would come as quickly as possible to save you? The kind that, without actually even having a telephone feature enabled in your car, still calls someone…somewhere, with the simple push of a button?
Mine does. And it’s quickly replaced the crank calls of yesteryear.
There’s nothing like a good “ban” to get the day rolling.
And while WFME had planned to use this space initially to ban harmonicas since they are the lamest, laziest musical instruments on the face of the earth (breath in, breath out, play music? please), there was a far better subject worth discussing, then banning. A far better useless item that was worth a good ol’ digital sit in.
That’s right. It’s your dwarf-like car ashtray that needs a slap in its plastic face.
A man flew off his motorcycle last night as he slammed into a car.
He lay there in the middle of the street with the policemen and the EMTs and his loving girlfriend/wife who sat there by his side as he tried to sit up.
His crotch-rocket was crushed and scratched, laying in the middle of the street while a four-door car sat parked off to the side with a huge chunk out of it’s driver’s side.
And the stupid people who love accidents stood blabbering away on the sidewalk.