I’ll be honest, I never thought in a million years that there would be a part two to this post. 

This picture is awesome. It’s the only reason its here.

I’M A NAIVE FUCK.

I was tearfully reunited with my 1996 Honda Accord just over 8 months ago.  Exactly 9/9/09 if I remember correctly.  A great day. I got my car back. Beatles Rock Band was released.  And some stupid bitch that reads tarot cards probably predicted that some planets would align or Bob Hope’s corpse would be violated. Who cares? 

Let me get you up to date since then.  In retrospect….and this pains me to say, I wish they never would have found it the first time. Why? Well for one thing, the cost.  Do you know that even if your car is STOLEN, you still have to pay the ridiculous fees for it being towed to and housed in the nearest impound lot?  I don’t know who wrote the rates for the towing and impound of a vehicle in LA county, but I assure you they were a sadistic son of a bitch. Some weaselly CPA who’s mom breast fed him until he was 13 and who’s dad never respected him….because he became a fucking accountant. 

So I bent over the table and paid it, because I need a functioning vehicle.  BUT. The  bigger issue became that it was not, in fact, functioning. Oh…..it ran. Except that the brakes had been worn down to nothing, the tires were fucked up beyond repair, and some how found a way to make the radiator hemorrhage.  And of course, they stole the radio as well.  OH. AND my cup holders (**PRO TIP** I actually recommend ripping your own cup holders out. You can now fit any size drink in it and things you never thought about putting there. For example, I recently drove home with a bottle of jager in it. It fit like a glove.). Essentially I spent the same amount I could have used to put a down payment on a new car, on fixing my old, crappy one.

From there we have arrived at my current impasse. 8 months later. Once again car-less. And I’ve learned a few things.

1) Best deterrent to keep your car from being stolen - don’t have a stereo.

For 8 months, I didn’t have a radio in my car. Why? Well. Once your car has been stolen once, and your stereo twice…you’re reluctant to spend the money.  Seems like a liability.  But exactly one week ago, I FINALLY felt confident enough to put a new stereo into my car. And I’ll damned if it wasn’t a magical week. Driving with the windows down, blasting music is one of life’s little pleasures that I genuinely and whole-heartedly love.  Kanye just killing with some sick beats. New Coheed blasting people’s doors off. Hendrix making sweet love to his lefty guitar.  It was beautiful. And now it’s gone. Again. I swear to God I’m going to murder these people.

2) Our government and law enforcement process is frivolous to a degree you couldn’t possibly imagine.

Now, don’t misunderstand.  I’m not so jaded as to say both are completely ineffective or pointless.  But damn. They do a lot stuff that are both of those things to reach their ultimate goal.

**Humorous anecdote - While filing my report with the police today, the officer who was assisting me with the paperwork was very helpful.  But perhaps unfocused.  Like anyone in LA, I have one or two unpaid parking tickets. That shit happens. But he happily reminded me that even if I have an out of state plate, i need to pay them.  Because they can boot or take my car away. I thanked him for the helpful, yet extremely untimely, advice. It took about an hour or so to work everything out.  So as I was departing, he realized that I had begun to register my car in California about a year ago. I told him yes I had, but realized my car would ever pass the smog test (which is fucking bullshit) and it was just going to end up being far too expensive.  “Well.  You better finish it. Because we can take your car because it was never completed.”  were his exact words.

REALLY?! Well sir. If and when you find it. You can keep the fucking thing.  Is that fine? Because it seems like LA, whether it be the city, county, or the limp dick bottom feeders that live there want the thing way more than I do for some reason. 

So, with this, I say good bye to my wonderful 1996 Honda Accord EX.  Whether or not you’re ever found…I think it’s time we finally parted ways. 

I’ll miss you. You’ll always be one of my first loves.  I discovered countless new musical artists and albums while driving you down the shady streets of Bloomington, Indiana and palm tree lined streets of LA. I shared some of the best times of my life with you, my family, and friends through day long road trips. I crossed the entire United States with you, bringing me to the current place I call home.  And oddly enough, I experienced some of the most devastating moments of heart break and saddness while inside you. And easily some of the scariest.

I’m sorry for everything I’ve ever done to you. Going months without an oil change. Hail damage. The puke (never mine).  Never washing you enough, so you could shine to your full potential.  The wreckless driving.  The spills.  Sometimes we forget that a car can become as much of a home to us as our actual houses. Or can reflect our personalities as much as the clothes we wear or the things we say. 

See you on the other side buddy.

Thugs 4 life.

- K

Feel free to click here if you want to relive part 1.

An Open Letter to Every Girl Kyle has Known in Indiana

by Tom Petty

I know, I know. I’ve denied it for a long time. And for a while I felt like I was hiding it pretty well.  But yes, it is true. 
Women of the great state of Indiana, all of my songs are about you.  Not all of you.  Just YOU. I know you’ve had your suspicions ever since the first time you heard the opening lyrics to “Mary Jane’s Last Dance.”  Oh sure! Some have claimed the whole song is just one giant metaphor for drug use.   What with Mary Jane also being a common slang term for marijuana.  Which I’m sure the humble Midwestern ladies of Indiana wouldn’t know anything about….eh? Haha.

I’m a charmer, I know. 

But I’m telling you right here, right now, that song is about you specifically.  The whole song is most certainly a metaphor.  For you and a love lost.  A bittersweet goodbye between two star crossed lovers who know that their time together is limited and soon to expire.  Its a sad, very generic life experience that we have all had at one point or another and a scenario anyone could easily place themselves into.  But I was definitely talking specifically about that time at summer camp where you had a fling with Jack Flannery in 6th grade. Remember? He was the first guy you let feel your boobs? Yeeeeea. That was pretty awesome.

What about “American Girl?” Yea.  I know it’s not as explicit, but I’m telling you right now. It’s about you too.  After all, Indiana is the “Crossroads of America.” So you tell me what place would better exemplify the free wheelin’ spirit and thirst for freedom that America thrives on better than the Hoosier state? You’re God damn right.  None of them. And you are THE American girl! Tell your friends!  “Free Fallin’?” Yep. That’s you too.  I know you love your momma, and I remember how you went to bible study every Sunday when you were in grade school. Oddly enough you never cared much for Elvis, I just thought I’d throw that in there.  I took liberties. I’m an artist after all.
Even songs that you think would be totally unrelated to you are about you! “Won’t Back Down” is essentially my own personal sequel to Gloria Gayner’s “I Will Survive.”  And my personal song of inspiration to you.  You don’t need your cheating ass ex! And you don’t need your boss Becky’s bitchy attitude and constant insults that are thinly veiled as “constructive criticism.” Telling you that using “lates” as a sign off in an e-mail to a client makes the whole company look unprofessional is a bit of an embellishment. I’ll tell you what she can do.  She can go ahead and sit on it!

Wait. What are you kids saying nowadays? Ah. I mean, she can fuck off!

Pay no mind that most of these songs were more than likely written before you were born or had any actual life experiences that you can remember. Let alone ones that helped shape your life.  No. Fret not.  For I always knew you. I was there when you were but a glimmer in your mother’s eye, when you were almost just spend seed after your father finally got a moment alone from his yappy wife, when you were a breech birth in Riverview Hospital.

Yes. I always knew you. And just wanted you to know that my whole career and catalog has been devoted to one person. YOU.

Keep on rocking in the free world,

Wait…that’s not me….er

Remember, you don’t have to live like a refugee,

No. WAIT! This is better.

Make sure you’re always stepping towards that “great wide open”,

TP

—————————————————-
Kyle
Twitter @kamcvey @LOLjoeyANDkyle @mooncounty

By Courage the Turkey

A pardon?! PARDON?! Are you fucking kidding me?! Do you have any idea what it took for me to get here? Oh no. They just randomly select the turkey they’ll be serving to the leader of the free fucking world! Are you sensing the sarcasm here? I should hope so. Get your head out of your ass!

It’s one of the greatest honors among my people to be served at the White House Thanksgiving. To willingly give our life to help fuel and sustain those who protect the freedom of the Western world. Today. November 24th, 14070 (that’s in Turkey years for the layman) the privilege was to be mine. Before it was snatched right out from my finely manicured talons!

Do you have any idea what I went through? This isn’t bestowed on any asshole with a ballsack for a chin. I’m talking a Mortal Kombat style tournament. I’m talking about a call out to the fightin-est, drinkin-est, hen fuckin-est bad asses to ever call themselves a turkey. I went through some serious Ong-Bak shit to get to 1600 Pennsylvania Avenue this morning. But I was denied satisfaction!

And for what?! A new more “cute” and PC tradition for the President to perform in from of the news cameras? Don’t get me wrong, there was a moment there where I was sure Obama would perform the killing ritual himself.  It was in his eyes. We both knew. In my mind I saw him raising the ceremonial knife carved from the femur bone of President Theodore Roosevelt.  It’s finely honed blade glistening in the morning sunlight. I could feel the rush of blood leaving my brain as the blade pierced my lanky neck. I could see my headless body running around in circles as my vision slowly blurred and faded away. Then the clouds opened and my decedents welcomed me to sit at the table with them in our version of Valhalla. 

But instead of dining with my honorable ancestors and taking my place among them. I am taking an all expense paid trip to California to be Grand Marshall in Disney Land’s annual Thanksgiving Parade. No. That makes sense. You should definitely appoint a disgraced warrior bird as the head of your celebration where all you do is commit mass genocide upon his people.  I can never regain my honor. We Turkey don’t have a version of seppuku to fall back on. But don’t think I won’t have my revenge! May God help the first Disney teen star I come across!

WATCH YOUR ASS SONNY WITH CHANCE!

Gobble, gobble motherfuckers,

Courage

____________________________________________________________________

Happy Thanksgiving Everyone!

Kyle

@kamcvey