Slack3r78
02-01-2009, 12:59 AM
Ah, the Suburban.
Is anything truly more American? This is a vehicle whose very name reflects the raw American obsession with sprawl and needless excess; a monument to hedonism forged of steel and rubber by the hands of a good, Union worker. It is the embodiment of the Great American Ideal that one should live no closer than 15 minutes from their nearest food source cum supermarket, and that the supplies necessary to feed a moderately sized tribe of humans should require no greater than a negligable amount of its potential cargo capacity.
Thus, it seems only necessary to push the very limits of sanity and physics themselves while driving this terrible chariot hellward bound. A deserted two lane road with housing sparse enough to feel empty, yet dense enough that home made apple pies may be bestown upon unexpecting neighbors. Love for one another, so long as their yard is properly landscaped.
Really, I have no choice but to leave the throttle wide open, the hope being either I destroy myself or everything around me. They say Reagan won the Cold War. Whomever this hypothetical 'they' is, is wrong. Moscow may have collapsed under the pressure of American consumption, but we are slowly consuming ourselves from the tail up. It won't be long now before we are chomping at our own necks.
So with that thought dominating all others, I press forward. Ninety miles an hour seems a reasonable goal, and I run off after it reckless to the last.
I am somewhat saddened to report that I didn't manage to destroy much of anything that night, save maybe my own hope that the python had come full circle upon itself. I got myself home and went to bed. The Suburban limped home, slolwly crumbling along with the Great American Ideal that it represents.
Is anything truly more American? This is a vehicle whose very name reflects the raw American obsession with sprawl and needless excess; a monument to hedonism forged of steel and rubber by the hands of a good, Union worker. It is the embodiment of the Great American Ideal that one should live no closer than 15 minutes from their nearest food source cum supermarket, and that the supplies necessary to feed a moderately sized tribe of humans should require no greater than a negligable amount of its potential cargo capacity.
Thus, it seems only necessary to push the very limits of sanity and physics themselves while driving this terrible chariot hellward bound. A deserted two lane road with housing sparse enough to feel empty, yet dense enough that home made apple pies may be bestown upon unexpecting neighbors. Love for one another, so long as their yard is properly landscaped.
Really, I have no choice but to leave the throttle wide open, the hope being either I destroy myself or everything around me. They say Reagan won the Cold War. Whomever this hypothetical 'they' is, is wrong. Moscow may have collapsed under the pressure of American consumption, but we are slowly consuming ourselves from the tail up. It won't be long now before we are chomping at our own necks.
So with that thought dominating all others, I press forward. Ninety miles an hour seems a reasonable goal, and I run off after it reckless to the last.
I am somewhat saddened to report that I didn't manage to destroy much of anything that night, save maybe my own hope that the python had come full circle upon itself. I got myself home and went to bed. The Suburban limped home, slolwly crumbling along with the Great American Ideal that it represents.