I hate my truck

I don't really, but it's causing trouble right now. Trouble enough to have to head up to Brainerd to get it fixed. It kind of digs into my weekend, but that's ok. I didn't really have much planned, and if going up there gets it fixed, then so be it.

On a semi-related note, when I was a kid, my best friend, Tim, had a much younger step-brother. He was a cute kid, but totally rambunctious and loud. One day, we found out that he couldn't pronounce some words correctly. One of these words was "truck". He would pronounce it, "Fruck".

Now, this leads two mischievous adolescent buddies to take advantage of this happenstance. They had a little pre-fab fort in the backyard, so we sat in it, and had him say words and phrases like, "Mother Trucker!" and "Truck you!". Wait...did I say "say"? I meant "scream at the top of his lungs".

Holy crap did we get in trouble. After about a solid hour or two of this happening, Tim's dad came home and chewed our asses out so much, we sat funny for a week. It was such a severe tongue lashing, that his dad's face was bright red, like those heat lamps they used to sell to keep you warm, that you'd accidentally put something plastic on, and it'd melt to it, eventually burning the plastic, and creating a smell that your mother would eventually smell it, and ask you what you've done, and you'd lie to her, but she'd shut the light off and she'd see melted/burnt plastic on it and then she'd chew your ass out too.

Man...my ass was chewed out a lot when I was a kid.