8/29/2011

First off, you have to be an Obama voting, “American Idol” watching, “Black Friday” shopping, Chevy driving, Hardly riding, missing chromosome, slack-jawed retard to eat at In N Out Burger. “Ooh! The TV tells me I must eat at In the Closet Burger or I won’t be cool. I must go there now and wait in a three hour line. But let me set my TiVo so I won't miss ‘Survivor: Retarded Isthmus’ and the ‘American Karaoke’ finals. Then we can go shopping at the mall on ‘Tax Free Weekend’ because that is what we are supposed to do.” YOU PEOPLE ARE FUCKING RETARDED! When I got home Friday, mom asked if I would be willing to take her to find the new Fort Worth location of Out of the Closet Burger. We drove down to Seventh Street and the first indication that I was not going to put up with the bullshit was the fact that they had cones blocking left turns off of Seventh into the parking lot. YOU PEOPLE ARE FUCKING RETARDED! I saw that the “restaurant” was full and decided then and there I wasn't going in. YOU PEOPLE ARE FUCKING RETARDED! I went around the block and saw the drive through line backed up into the street and half a block down. YOU PEOPLE ARE FUCKING RETARDED! They had cops at every entrance and intersection within a block directing traffic. YOU PEOPLE ARE FUCKING RETARDED! Not the cops, the customers. We drove off and ate at a nice little bistro on Magnolia called Lilli’s. Saturday, John came to the house and we went to Nadine's to pick up the parts she has been hoarding for the TR-3. I was expecting PARTS, but what we got were parts. One little jar of badges and letters, and a couple floor mats. I was afeared John would be pissed at the “magnitude” of the haul, but he pointed out that the floor mats made the trip worthwhile. I shrugged and took it as a good sign. I guess. We went to the shop and he had me drive the Black Death up onto ramps so he could fix my fender. I took the 7.62x39 inside and began working on its trigger. I cut off the actual trigger from the hook and cleaned it up on the grinder. I installed it without the bold hold open just in case I needed to file away some metal to make it work. It worked fine so I installed the BHO. The trigger is AWESOME now! It is almost, if not just as, nice as the shotgun’s trigger. Those guys at Tromix know their Kalashnikov action fire arms. I went out to see how John was doing and saw that he’d not only fixed the broken bolt on the bumper, but had most of the white paint buffed off. That boy does fine work. If I don't thank him often enough... well, thank you John. When he finished that chore, thanks again, he moved on to cutting a spare fender for his Gold Wing. He chopped and trimmed and whittled and whanged on it for a bit and when he was done, it looked damned good! The whole time I was cringing as he worked because from where I was sitting, it looked like he was hacking it all to hell. Suddenly, it was nigh perfect. I told him, “No offense, but that turned out much better than I expected.” Pat called to ask if we were doing lunch and I told him our plans. John, not knowing I'd already pretty much deemed Up Your Butt Burger “restauranta non grata,” asked if he wanted to meet us there. I decided to give it one more try, fingering it might have been the fact that mom and I went on a Friday night. No, YOU PEOPLE ARE FUCKING RETARDED! There were fuck-tards trying to turn left into the drive through, right in front of the “No Left Turn” signs. The lot was full of fuck-tard-mobiles. And there were fuck-tards walking from a few blocks away to get in. YOU PEOPLE ARE FUCKING RETARDED! I called Pat and said we were NOT eating at that place. We decided on Mexican Inn instead. After lunch, John and I went shopping for a four-door Yaris hatch back. Yeah, there aren't any Yari to be had, much less a four-door hatch. We did stop at the used car lot of the Toyota dealer by my house and saw a bitchin’ 2005 Subaru Legacy 2.5 GT for $10 k. The only thing keeping me from seeing what they would give me for a trade in on the Black Death was the fact it was an automatic. I won't do it, not again. Oh, we also got his son a phone at the scariest little bodega in the ghetto where, apparently, Juan has to go to get Metro PCP service. I was glad to have Katie tucked into my belt, I have to say. When we got back in the car I said, “I’ll bet I'm not the only person here with a Kalashnikov in the trunk either.” After I dropped him at his car, I took a shower and a nap, as I am wont to do after a day at the shop. So there you have that. I'll tell y'all about the gun show, and what my dumb ass bought, tomorrow. Don't worry, it is pretty cool. Oh, and one more thing for the In N Out Burger sycophants: YOU PEOPLE ARE FUCKING RETARDED!