Oh the things I would do if someone were to give me my very own limousine. These awesome, stretched out vehicles are more than just a mechanism to show how "big" your penis is; they are also wonderful status symbols that place you above others. Long and intrusive, you often find yourself envious of those who are able to be in the back of one. Not the front, tough, because let's face it: no matter how cool you think you are, no matter how cool you dress, when you're sitting in the front, you're just the driver. The real bad ass is in the back.
You have to understand that a limousine is targeted to a very special set of people. Obviously you have the rich folks who want to lord themselves over the mere mortals by driving a beast of a car that takes up far too much room on the roadway, and where double-parking is just the norm. You can never park one of these things at a McDonalds without taking up four spots, usually at some kind of weird angle.
On the somber end of the limo spectrum are those who are going to a funeral, generally for someone who can actually afford a limo of some sort. For those non-rich folks who fit into this category, their limo is usually from the 1980s and smells like one too many hookers overdosed somewhere in the back. Unpleasant, yes, but let's face it, it's the truth. The limousine is a place of mourning, where you crowd a whole bunch of funeral goers together to mourn in peace. Sadly, nothing funny I can really say for this one which begs the editorial question, why the hell did I include it in the first place?
The last category is one of the more interesting areas of the limousine riding elite: horny prom goers. Oh yes, it's every boy's dream to pull up in front of his prom date's house with a big limo, which itself is analogous to the fact that he does, in fact, have a penis and does, in fact, want to use it on the prom date in the back of said limo. Generally this pleasantry of life is reserved for the modern douche bag whose parents are douche bags with far too much money. Alternatively, it can be a group of smaller douche bags who pooled their money for an uber limousine model.
Let me stop for a moment and say, if you are one of those parents who rented a limo for your horny teenage boy on prom night, I do apologize for the previous statement. My anger at prom limos stems from the time when Kelly Pinkler wouldn't go to prom with me because Bryce Johannson had a fucking limo, which I didn't have, but his douche bag parents could afford one and my family was dirt poor. It's okay, I'm really over it, especially after he boinked Kelly in the backseat and spent the subsequent 18 years raising Bryce Jr., while he failed out of high school and is now working as a fry cook at the local Burger King. Damn, karma is a real bitch.
Now that we know some of the background of the modern limousine (as told by me), what would I do if I had one? Well the first hint is that I wouldn't run out to use it at every funeral I could get my hands on...
Revisit my Youth
Since I never had a limo when I was a kid, and this clearly led to long-term issues anytime I think of my high school prom, I would have to start by revisiting my youth and those involved in the fun that was my early life. Since this limo is being given to me, I would have to hope (beg) that I could get something big, blue, and Hummer-ish. The kind of things people look at driving down the road and just ask themselves, why??
Of course the answer is that it's because it's completely unnecessary as an automobile on its own, but even less so when it's a big-ass stretch limousine. Also, a car named after another term for blow job can't be too bad, right?
So what would be the first thing on my Hummer-limo agenda? Take it right to do Mrs. Kelly Pinkler-Johannson's house to rub it the fuck in!
Scene: Hummlimo pulls into an overgrown yard (no driveway parking, that's for mortals). The horn wails, whilst the driver, a bald man of outstanding limo character,stands outside of the vehicle. He waits, until two adults appear, flanked by their children, now aware of the awesome presence of the Hummlimo.
The driver, full of boastful pride, exclaims: What say you now, Pinkler!?! Am I good enough for you with my even bigger small-dick-compensating limousine?!? It gets two miles to the gallon and that's just at the stoplight, dammit!
All of her kids will be in awe, Bryce will be dropping a load in his shorts, and I will be grinning from ear to ear with two thumbs up like the Fonz saying "ehhhhh, screw you!!!".
For my younger readers, the Fonz is an old TV character. TV is how we used to watch the moving pictures before computers and cell phones. Google is your friend here.
Anyway, the next thing I would do is to drive to every other girl who ever rejected me, and every teacher who told me I wasn't limo-good, and every star athelete/bully who is now working at the local fast food joint and rub it in their snooty little faces. Granted, if I find any of those people have their own limo (and accompanying mansion), I'm outta there. I know when I'm legit beat.
Look Down Upon the Little People
Being the owner of a limo means being a dick. If I'm given a limo for funsies, I plan to be a dick; it's just how it works. To be a walking penis, I must first drive through town with half my torso hanging out of the sunroof, champagne bottle in hand, telling the lessers where to shove it. "YOU! Lonely, lesser people! OUT OF MY WAY, I'M IN A FUCKING LIMO!!!!".
Obviously I'd have a smile on my face, because that's what people in these scenarios do. If I wanted to amp up the dick factor, I would drink from my champagne bottle and subsequently chuck it at the nearest person I can find.
For those of you wondering, yes, I do fully understand that I would be arrested for doing this, but again that's all part of owning a limo. Questions such as "don't you know who I am" or "dude, I'm in a limo, what the fuck?", would be prevalent. As would the statement "you know I pay your salary with my taxes, right?!?"
A better way to put this scenario would be, simply, "be an asshat". I have a limo, you don't, so get the hell out of my way while I enjoy my life.
Crash the Red Carpet
What better image of a limo is there than of it dropping off celebrities at the red carpet of some big award ceremony. Naturally, if I had a limousine for a time, I would immediately crash one of these big red carpet events and trick every one of the SOBs into thinking I was someone important. The E! commentary almost writes itself:
"And here comes... ummm... That guy from everyone's favorite show. Yes, that was such a wonderful movie, he played his character so well..."
Of course, to pull this off, I'd need someone to join me, someone to pretend to laugh at my terrible jokes and make me look pretty for the camera. Should be easy enough to find; chicks love limos, right?
At this point, an astute reader should ask, why wouldn't you bring your wife? The answer is easy: she wouldn't want to encourage me, and looking like a jackass is not really her thing, especially when limos are involved.
Once the awards ceremony is over and we pile back into our celebrity limos, I would obviously bring back a celeb or two with me. Not to mention names, but whomever this famous human would be, I would make sure to get embarrassing pictures of them drinking from a conch shell with an umbrella duct-taped to their head. Seriously, just don't ask, you're better off not knowing.
Crash the Thing
Let's be honest: if I want to continue the theme of being a complete asshole with my new limo, I'm going to have do the right thing and crash it, either into a tree, another vehicle, or something else fairly high-profile that will get me on the news. It's what celebs do, right? They get drunk or high on drugs, or both, drive their vehicle at high speeds and run into something quite solid. They are really sorry, though, and eventually find themselves on the cover of a magazine with a headline talking about their great comeback. If I really want to push my luck, I'll aim for a pedestrian or two. Let's be honest, if those folks would get off the damn sidewalk, we wouldn't keep running them over. Nothing to get offended about, just simple logic.
What matters is that I apologize for whatever I did wrong, while inside not really caring and worrying only about the fact that I no longer have a limo to lord over people in like some sort of royal chariot. If anything, my crashing of my limo makes me angry, so much so that I want to take it out on all my friends (if I had any left), eventually go into rehab, and coming out with a book deal. Money from this deal, obviously, goes toward buying another (and more awesome) limousine.
What I think we've all learned here is that if I were given a limo I would, without equivocation, act like a Grade A dick. There's no getting around it, the power would go to my head. All those around me would be screwed. Including the limo.
You have to understand that a limousine is targeted to a very special set of people. Obviously you have the rich folks who want to lord themselves over the mere mortals by driving a beast of a car that takes up far too much room on the roadway, and where double-parking is just the norm. You can never park one of these things at a McDonalds without taking up four spots, usually at some kind of weird angle.
On the somber end of the limo spectrum are those who are going to a funeral, generally for someone who can actually afford a limo of some sort. For those non-rich folks who fit into this category, their limo is usually from the 1980s and smells like one too many hookers overdosed somewhere in the back. Unpleasant, yes, but let's face it, it's the truth. The limousine is a place of mourning, where you crowd a whole bunch of funeral goers together to mourn in peace. Sadly, nothing funny I can really say for this one which begs the editorial question, why the hell did I include it in the first place?
The last category is one of the more interesting areas of the limousine riding elite: horny prom goers. Oh yes, it's every boy's dream to pull up in front of his prom date's house with a big limo, which itself is analogous to the fact that he does, in fact, have a penis and does, in fact, want to use it on the prom date in the back of said limo. Generally this pleasantry of life is reserved for the modern douche bag whose parents are douche bags with far too much money. Alternatively, it can be a group of smaller douche bags who pooled their money for an uber limousine model.
Let me stop for a moment and say, if you are one of those parents who rented a limo for your horny teenage boy on prom night, I do apologize for the previous statement. My anger at prom limos stems from the time when Kelly Pinkler wouldn't go to prom with me because Bryce Johannson had a fucking limo, which I didn't have, but his douche bag parents could afford one and my family was dirt poor. It's okay, I'm really over it, especially after he boinked Kelly in the backseat and spent the subsequent 18 years raising Bryce Jr., while he failed out of high school and is now working as a fry cook at the local Burger King. Damn, karma is a real bitch.
Now that we know some of the background of the modern limousine (as told by me), what would I do if I had one? Well the first hint is that I wouldn't run out to use it at every funeral I could get my hands on...
Revisit my Youth
Since I never had a limo when I was a kid, and this clearly led to long-term issues anytime I think of my high school prom, I would have to start by revisiting my youth and those involved in the fun that was my early life. Since this limo is being given to me, I would have to hope (beg) that I could get something big, blue, and Hummer-ish. The kind of things people look at driving down the road and just ask themselves, why??
Of course the answer is that it's because it's completely unnecessary as an automobile on its own, but even less so when it's a big-ass stretch limousine. Also, a car named after another term for blow job can't be too bad, right?
So what would be the first thing on my Hummer-limo agenda? Take it right to do Mrs. Kelly Pinkler-Johannson's house to rub it the fuck in!
Scene: Hummlimo pulls into an overgrown yard (no driveway parking, that's for mortals). The horn wails, whilst the driver, a bald man of outstanding limo character,stands outside of the vehicle. He waits, until two adults appear, flanked by their children, now aware of the awesome presence of the Hummlimo.The driver, full of boastful pride, exclaims: What say you now, Pinkler!?! Am I good enough for you with my even bigger small-dick-compensating limousine?!? It gets two miles to the gallon and that's just at the stoplight, dammit!
All of her kids will be in awe, Bryce will be dropping a load in his shorts, and I will be grinning from ear to ear with two thumbs up like the Fonz saying "ehhhhh, screw you!!!".
For my younger readers, the Fonz is an old TV character. TV is how we used to watch the moving pictures before computers and cell phones. Google is your friend here.
Anyway, the next thing I would do is to drive to every other girl who ever rejected me, and every teacher who told me I wasn't limo-good, and every star athelete/bully who is now working at the local fast food joint and rub it in their snooty little faces. Granted, if I find any of those people have their own limo (and accompanying mansion), I'm outta there. I know when I'm legit beat.
Look Down Upon the Little People
Being the owner of a limo means being a dick. If I'm given a limo for funsies, I plan to be a dick; it's just how it works. To be a walking penis, I must first drive through town with half my torso hanging out of the sunroof, champagne bottle in hand, telling the lessers where to shove it. "YOU! Lonely, lesser people! OUT OF MY WAY, I'M IN A FUCKING LIMO!!!!".
Obviously I'd have a smile on my face, because that's what people in these scenarios do. If I wanted to amp up the dick factor, I would drink from my champagne bottle and subsequently chuck it at the nearest person I can find.For those of you wondering, yes, I do fully understand that I would be arrested for doing this, but again that's all part of owning a limo. Questions such as "don't you know who I am" or "dude, I'm in a limo, what the fuck?", would be prevalent. As would the statement "you know I pay your salary with my taxes, right?!?"
A better way to put this scenario would be, simply, "be an asshat". I have a limo, you don't, so get the hell out of my way while I enjoy my life.
Crash the Red Carpet
What better image of a limo is there than of it dropping off celebrities at the red carpet of some big award ceremony. Naturally, if I had a limousine for a time, I would immediately crash one of these big red carpet events and trick every one of the SOBs into thinking I was someone important. The E! commentary almost writes itself:
Of course, to pull this off, I'd need someone to join me, someone to pretend to laugh at my terrible jokes and make me look pretty for the camera. Should be easy enough to find; chicks love limos, right?
At this point, an astute reader should ask, why wouldn't you bring your wife? The answer is easy: she wouldn't want to encourage me, and looking like a jackass is not really her thing, especially when limos are involved.
Once the awards ceremony is over and we pile back into our celebrity limos, I would obviously bring back a celeb or two with me. Not to mention names, but whomever this famous human would be, I would make sure to get embarrassing pictures of them drinking from a conch shell with an umbrella duct-taped to their head. Seriously, just don't ask, you're better off not knowing.
Crash the Thing
Let's be honest: if I want to continue the theme of being a complete asshole with my new limo, I'm going to have do the right thing and crash it, either into a tree, another vehicle, or something else fairly high-profile that will get me on the news. It's what celebs do, right? They get drunk or high on drugs, or both, drive their vehicle at high speeds and run into something quite solid. They are really sorry, though, and eventually find themselves on the cover of a magazine with a headline talking about their great comeback. If I really want to push my luck, I'll aim for a pedestrian or two. Let's be honest, if those folks would get off the damn sidewalk, we wouldn't keep running them over. Nothing to get offended about, just simple logic.
What matters is that I apologize for whatever I did wrong, while inside not really caring and worrying only about the fact that I no longer have a limo to lord over people in like some sort of royal chariot. If anything, my crashing of my limo makes me angry, so much so that I want to take it out on all my friends (if I had any left), eventually go into rehab, and coming out with a book deal. Money from this deal, obviously, goes toward buying another (and more awesome) limousine.
What I think we've all learned here is that if I were given a limo I would, without equivocation, act like a Grade A dick. There's no getting around it, the power would go to my head. All those around me would be screwed. Including the limo.
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