This evening I came out of the grocery store and found a pimped Lexus IS300 parked next to my bitchin’ Acura. Similar to the fifth Baller of the Week™ contestant, this week’s contestant is balling out of control. Enjoy the bling:
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This is the second Baller of the Week™ contestant with the distinction of a blue book value exceeding the cost of the bling.
I found this ridiculous riced out Mitsubishi Lancer Evolution VIII in Virginia Highlands. Although a stock Evo is an extremely capable car with plenty of performance enhancing parts (which are the antithesis of rice), the overwhelming amount of garish stickers elevate this car to ricer status. Behold the power of rice:
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I found this wrecked Subaru Forester in Virginia Highlands. All five Propeller Skies readers are cordially invited to speculate on what this Safe Driver of the Week™ collided with.
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Why fucktards wait hours in line to eat at the Flying Biscuit is beyond me. The food is all right, but nothing special. The menu mostly consists of tree hugging hippie crap like free range chicken and a facsimile of bacon made with turkey. Skip the line and visit R. Thomas and Sons.
My original Saint Patrick’s Day plan was to spend the evening getting loaded at the previously reviewed El Bar with several recurring Propeller Skies characters. Friday night, that plan collided with my top secret plan to save as much money as possible, retire early, move to Jamaica, and rock the ganj like Jay and Silent Bob.
My friend Phizz to tha O-Z threw a pre-party at his crib. In the spirit of saving money, I rolled up with a twelve pack of Sierra Nevada Pale Ale (SNPA). I then pounded SNPA like it was my job. Later, to get in touch with my Irish heritage, I did some shots of whiskey.
Eventually we made it to El Bar. At El Bar, I called the Dog the Rabbit or maybe the Rabbit the Dog and went to find the restroom. While taking a leak, I noticed the toilet was revolving rapidly. I decided this was a sign from God* that I should take my leave and walked home to my ghetto fabulous apartment complex.
Saturday morning, while strolling back to Virginia Highlands to retrieve my dope ride, apocalyptic visions of drunken chavs crashing into my Acura while attempting to parallel park their ghetto sleds were running through my head. I was very relieved to find my beloved Acura right where I left it and in pristine condition.
* I do not actually believe in God, or any other supreme being, this is only a figure of speech for comedic effect.
Friday evening, I found a riced out Toyota Corolla in the parking lot of my ghetto fabulous apartment complex. In need of another non-weekly of the week feature for the amusement of all five Propeller Skies readers and inspired by Seth’s recent feature on ricer automobiles, I shot the following rice rocket:
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Starting from the bottom, the wheels add 5 horsepower (HP) each, the ridiculous coffee can muffler adds 10 hp, the ugly taillights add 5 hp each, and the silly wing adds another 5 hp for a grand total of 45 additional hp. To increase power even more, I highly recommend adding plenty of stickers.
Not only did the Texas A&M men’s basketball team make it to the post season, something Dennis Franchione’s football teams have not managed in two of his three years as head coach, the Aggies upset Syracuse in the first round. For those keeping score at home, Billy Gillispie has one post season win and Franchione has precisely zero at Texas A&M. Gillispie deserves a fat raise and a contract extension for turning a team that started off slow at a school that could give a fuck about basketball into a contender. And Gillispie managed to do it with defense, something Franchione and Gary Darnell know jack and shit about. Franchione deserves to be fired, yesterday.
Saturday night, I dropped by El Bar with a few recurring Propeller Skies characters. El Bar had a strangely diverse crowd, a hot bartender, and no Sierra Nevada Pale Ale. Despite the lack of Sierra Nevada Pale Ale, I recommend El Bar.
Funny how DP world changed their tune when Congress threatened a real investigation. I suspect they did not want their sweetheart deal from the Head Fucktard in Charge to see the light of day.
The Mexican population in Texas is incensed because Houston’s major league soccer* team chose 1836, the year Houston was founded, as a name. Coincidentally, 1836 is the same year General Sam Houston decisively defeated General Santa Ana and the Mexican Army** at the battle of San Jacinto, thus ensuring the independence of the Republic of Texas. The whole furor over 1836 is ridiculous. That would be like me, a native of the northeast, getting upset if the Georgia Force*** named themselves 1861. There is one key difference - unlike Mexico, the north won the civil war. Unfortunately, the bitch ass ownership of Houston’s MLS franchise changed the name from 1836 to the hopelessly lame Dynamo.
* MLS has the distinction of being approximately as relevant as the NHL.
** Only slightly more effective than the French Army, as General Sam Houston’s forces literally caught them napping.
*** Chosen as an example, since arena football is roughly as popular as major league soccer.