Sputter. Gasp. Stutter. Or where the words are created by spasmic muscles

I wonder who set the timings for the wipers. Like all the cars I have driven have this standard timings for the wipers. I would have liked to be in the room when they were discussing this.

“Ya ya Gunther, now pour water oh-ver the windscreen. Chekhov, move the wipers. Herrman start the timer..,….un, dos tres…..STOP!”


So there is this song on the radio waves which is super popular called “I am glad you came”.

And the image in my head is that scene in Annie Hall where Woody Allen is giving head to that Rosemary chick and then he sits up and adjusts his jaws. Too funnay.


I saw this kid getting the shit scolded out of him by his mother. It was super duper funny. Kinda reminded me of the Spanish Inquisition. You are presumed guilty. Man, that kid had no chance. Sure, he put up a spirited fight but once the “finger of doom” came up, everyone knew he had no chance in hell.


I am coming up with more and more creative excuses to use the Sea Link. I absolutely loves it and I am afraid I am spending far too much money on it.

But it is just so pretty. Especially when the big, bad clouds are just about to burst and you can see the massive waves and then when you reach the cables, you look up and I can almost convince myself that I am somewhere far, far away.

I must be the slowest driver on the damn thing. But who cares.


I think I should get an old edition of NFS installed on the computer and play it till my eyes turn red and the soundtrack is burnt into my brain.

NFS- Underground.

A single-occupancy hostel room in the middle of the night, hip-hop blaring from the speakers, faces lit up by the green of the computer screen. Screeching and braking and wiggling the Miata’s cute little bum to earn some extra points in the drift stage. With a group of cheerleaders silently doing their thing.



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2 Responses to Sputter. Gasp. Stutter. Or where the words are created by spasmic muscles

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