My dream car.

First and foremost, I am not a boyracer. I hate them with a vengence.

Today, however, I was ready the vehicles for sale section of our local paper when I saw something I had been praying for since time began. Some (most) people will think Im a sad/stupid prick for my choice, but each to his own. If its ok for a man to want another man, then GIVE ME MY CAR!!!

Breathe.

Roight. My dream is a dirty old Landrover Defender, long wheel base (I think its called the station wagon model or sumthin) 12 seater. Thats it. Not much, but thats me.

And here it was. The second most beautiful paragraph I have ever encountered. (First being my badly planned and executed bullshit excuse for a proposal, and only because that was punctuated with a yes.) Landrover defender, 1992, immac cond, $24,995 phone *dribblestain* asaph *dribblestain*.

And yes, I think I remember the proposal that well too. I nearly came. It was 6pm, but I thought Id call the yard and ask if they still had it. Yep. What colour was it? Yellow.

Yuk man. I wanted black. Then I clicked. There is only one yellow defender here that I know of. So I asked, is it the camel trophy one? Yep.

Page the cleaners. I need a towel.

The only one of its type apparently in NZ for sale for $24,000. If I could get hold of my grandmother Id be sweet, but someone tipped her off and she bolted. I dont have that sort of money. There aint much I wouldnt consider doing for that car, or the new version of it.

I knew I was dreaming, and my lady brought me down to earth with a thud. Actually more of a screaming crash with the passengers all engulfed in flames and the pilot frozen with terror in the cockpit. Actually, not the scary bits, just the shock. "Youre not getting it." It so sucked. She was right. We have no assets or cash and are looking at running a business so splashing out on a car is not possible. I just wouldve preferred a gentle let down. It was my dream.

Well, there is a god, and youd think I shagged his wife. The meaning of life for me obviosuly doesnt involve owning really cool four wheel drives. Stink au. Or anything fun really. Unless it involves mediocre bass work. I think yall should look up Victor Wooten. He is what I couldve been if I practised about ten years ago rather than setlling into one spot. Sigh. Another failure. Oh well.

Where was I?

Right. The car.

By the way, I like Stephen King. Creepy dude really, his ideas are just nuts. I like being able to relate to the characters so easily, even the misguided ones (rotfl), and I like his writing style, especially his tangents for the nutters (eg survivor type, from skeleton crew (I think but dont quote me)). And his apparently mandatory cameo in the movies. Part of the fun in watching I think is spotting him. Like a wheres wally (No offence intended Mr. King).

So if anyone feels like donating to the "Get the Maori a LandRover He Does Not Desereve coz Hes a Twat. Au." fund, drop me a line (somehow, however this works) and it'd be chur. Otherwise, peace and respect to you (private joke, I get it...).

Au.

Aw not even au.

I'll endeavour to explain this to yous non maori types sometime. Just bear with me.