The Rad Racer: Why my girlfriend should drive

I'll be honest: mostly.



Here's how it went down

:

"Hey are my keys over there?"
"No...wait....no, I don't see them."
"Okay...so keep going straight?"
"Yeah, but you're not suppose to be running a red light."
"I'm what? Oh shit...a cop."

I can't read Red! I'm Illiterate

:

I would have been better off
giving her the car keys,
Seeing how it was her car to begin with.

Looking at the mirror,
I saw that familiar expression,
from my friend of me.

the absent minded man

:

"Crap crap crap, should I turn and lose him?"
"No, just go straight...here, turn in here to the left."

triple lights and 4th syllables

:

I like donuts.

But how would that make sense to anyone right now?

It's simple:

He was waiting to make that left.

He'll make that U-Turn,
shooting a bee-line to my ass.

So before he'd rob me of a couple hundred dollars,
and the hours I'd spend in traffic school,

I'd quickly narrate his very existence.
It'd be only a matter of moments,

I'd have to stop.

But I would be able to smile with satisfaction,
while he's walking closer,
between the words Objects" and may appear.

Why you ask?

Like I said, It's simple:

I like donuts.




Sayonara Sucker

:

We lost him.

We pulled into B rated shopping center.

Across the front I'd see the chatty teens
loitering in front of Starbucks, adjacent would be the intellectuals,
squabbling over comfort seats at Borders, and of course jobless M.T.M wonders,
suckering in their latest clients by the fountain.

All of them there, completely themed
at what Americans do best:


E x c e s s i v e .


We hopped out of the car,
ducking and dodging our best friend, Officer Donuts.

Once the coast was clear, we decided to walk into
an Office Max - You know...until the heat was gone.

Walking around,
we past the aisles of pen & paper, the artsy portfolios,
and schemes of fashionable office chairs...


Oh! The chairs...

:

"I give this an eight"
"I give this one a seven"
"Really a seven?"
"Oh...this one is comfortable..yeah definitely an eight."

We decided to rate the chairs on a scale of 1 to 10.

A sharp red velvet chair, placed alone in the corner
looked like a great seat.
I gave it a Seven.

A black fake-leather chair, scooted inside a desk.
Gave it a four.

Donald Trump'ss soft-fabric seat, with an extra plump.
Yeah...this was a eight.

Man..I love eights.

After testing a good portion of their display chairs, we got bored and left.

On our way out, I grabbed her hands.

She looked at me and smiled.
We continued to walk.

Reaching for the door, I sat down comfortably.
She held the wheel in her hand and started the car.

Back on the road,
We were going home.