How I will die

Car wreck.  How do I know?  I went in for an oil change and the mechanic said I was in dire need of tires.  I know he was serious because 1) this is the third time they said it and 2) they looked like racing slicks.  Fine, what’s the damage?  Three tires – $642.  Excuse me?  “Well you have oversized wheels and there are no specials.”  Hmm.  Let me get back to you.

A buddy of mine then told me about this place down the street.  Why not check it out?  It had no sign and when I walked in, no furniture or office type shit, like a fax.  An Arabic man came out looking very suprised, like I was interrupting his designs on the capitalist pigs by coming into his fake storefront.  My bald eagle didn’t scream, so I knew it was legit.  He spoke no English, so I left.  His cohort chased me down and told me they sold to the public.  So I walked out with three new tires for a cool $30/each.

Knowing that nothing ever goes smoothly, I realized this shady business is currently either using my debit card to steal all my life’s fortunes (joke’s on you bastards, I’m poor) or more likely, I just bought used tires made in a Malaysian sweat shop.  The tears of a 9 year old worker/slave mixed in with the polymers, which cause the tire to shred at high speeds, making me crash headlong into a church bus, either killing me or somehow shaving off only my genitals, in which case I kill myself anyways.  Oh well, gotta go sometime.  At least I saved a couple hundred!