To prove as much, I record said yarn here:
Today was to start with an errand and end with big robots. Lisa and I recently got a new mattress set, and needed to get the old set out to mom and dad’s guest room in East Aurora. The original plan was to drive my tiny Tracker out to EA, switch to the family pick up, drive back in to Buffalo, load the mattresses up, drive back out to EA, drop off the mattresses, switch back to the tiny Tracker, drive back in to EA and meet up with friends to see Transformers in the early afternoon.
Four trips of 27 miles each. If we include loading and unloading time, well... that particular breed of canine, I’m told by the experts, will not hunt.
This is what that old man will say: “And on that day, my young’ns, I knew time was short and my options were limited. But Autobots, my young’ns, AUTOBOTS proved to be the motivator of greatness that day... my tiny Tracker might not have lasers, but turns out it had balls the size of energon cubes.”
Yeah that’s right. Fuck the pick up. I used the tiny Tracker:
Now don’t let the above picture fool you. That pic actually makes it look like the mattress fits up there. But no, for a few reasons, this was a bad, bad, terrible, awful idea.
Reason number 1: I used crappy rope. Hey, if I’m going to save time and use the tiny Tracker, I’m sure as hell not going to waste time going out to buy good rope. See, young’ns, in Mike Garvey math, lots of crap rope = a sufficient amount of decent rope:
Reason number 2: something’s wrong with my steering. Ha, yes. You read that right. I strapped two big bulky things to the top of my tinfoil car with what amounts to 75 feet of dental floss and drove 27 highway miles in a car with SHITTY STEERING. In my defense, I didn’t know just how bad it was until I had it on the road and by then I was committed to getting to the Transformers movie on time. Also in my defense, “AUTOBOTS”!
Reason number 3: I tie knots for shit:
I mean come the fuck on. Why do I need 40 loops of rope going this way,
but only ONE strand of rope THE WAY THAT COUNTS??!
If I’d gotten into an accident and died, forensics would have figured I planned on going under 10mph on the straightaways, but taking each curve at 80.
Ah, but young’ns, I made it with time to spare. Despite the car, the rope, the steering, the knots, and my internal Lisa, which was screaming and waving its arms and telling me I should be committed, I got to East Aurora unscathed. At that point, of course, the grizzled old man will realize it's a shitty story, so he'll lie and say his Tracker was an Autobot with lasers.