DRIVEL: Opinions and Reviews

copywriter toronto

About Ssssssssssteam
[following four years in car with no a/c.]

Summer misses us, maybe?

Now, she doesn’t see the soccer flags of our driving hair, whipping out the open car windows.

She doesn’t hear music sliding by on the expressway, with lazy crazy hazy for the 40th year, or hot town summer in the city backa my neck getting hot an gritty, or it’s a girl my lord in a flatbed ford an she’s slowin down to look at me, ..or something by Slim Shady would totally work, too, knowdumsayn?

(When I'm too old for steam, I’ll go dig my OWN damn hole.
Commandments XI, XII, and XIII,  [from the broken tablet “Oops” gospel]:
Fuck wrinkled upscale clothing.
Fuck trauma to the fragile hair ends.
Fuck squinty grin and botox.
Amen.)

So we’d rather have unseasonably cold air evicting the steam from our clothes
than feel our hair whip and our bodies sync up with the tune
from the car next to us at the red light.
(What do the people in the Bratmobiles do?! – those open little jeepy things got no a/c.)

We’ve turned up our noses at steam.  How arid of us.
I hope summer misses us.
I hope she lets us come back;
and doesn’t make everything quiet and cold.
Just the way we like it.

Bonus Random Corollary Insight into hot cars

No a.c. makes you about eight years old in a car! Seriously, you get to play with all the knobs all the time!
You’re hot and it’s noisy.  Sucks, sorta.  But this time, at least you’re DRIVING.  The Powah!
So you adjust the music constantly for the various wind volumes, and change the air flow for best whatever, depending on who’s riding and the size of knot in their knickers.

You exit car by hip patios with Manson/Einstein hair, so you carry a straw cowboy hat in the back seat for the purpose.  (As well as a coupla shirts in case of burning sun on left arm.)

You release yer inner cowboy and get freckles on the left side of your neck.

You brush up on your knee-driving skills, as bareknee is the only way to do this, um, responsibly, and is impossible to perfect in winter or while bundled up against the a/c.

You watch the faces of the rear passengers to see who’s fed up already and therefore you should put up their windows now and pull over and buy everyone ice cream.  That always works.  So does beer.  I’ve invested the two grand the a/c retrofit would cost in Steam Whistle™ and Baskin Robbins™.

And know what?--nothing like a well-deserved frozen or bubbly thang, cuz you’re allowed to broadly perform your sensations as you flop down in the cool place and fan your slick self and make little exhausted noises and then gasp and gulp and sigh with bliss and relief when the goodies come, as you’ve clearly just arrived from liftin' a barge and totin’ a bale and can enjoy yourself like someone who’s broken a decent godfearing sweat.

I really don’t feel that summer has arrived now unless I’ve had the steamy, windy, hair-whipping weather.  It will be cool and refreshing in the morgue and my pores will have lost interest in sweating for any reason whatsoever, let alone a swell reason like summer and a girl my lord in a fat blue ford and she's slowin down to look at YOU...