The Luv Doc: Parachute Pants and a Kentucky Waterfall
A miniature pony is an even awesomer chick magnet than an IROC-Z
Riddle me this, bitch: I have a 1989 IROC-Z that runs good normally but it sputters when I stomp on the gas. My dad says I should check the fuel system and that it may be a bad fuel pump/filter. What do you think?
I could blame it on a deteriorated control arm bushing, Brad, but that would be preposterous. Besides, I’ve never even looked under the hood of an IROC-Z. Why? Because back when I roc’d parachute pants and a Kentucky Waterfall, I couldn’t afford an IROC. These days, I occasionally have a few hundred bucks to throw around, but given the choice, I would probably blow it on one of the miniature horses currently for sale from The Monastery of St. Clare Miniature Horse Farm in Brenham. I’ve had my eye on a 33-inch-tall, two-year-old gray pony named Pepperjack for some time now. Pepperjack stands about crotch high and would be perfect to turn loose on the fairways of my neighborhood golf course (turns out you can’t buy live wolverines over the Internet anyway) or to take for a jog around Ladybird Lake. You may not believe this, but pound for pound, a miniature pony is an even awesomer chick magnet than an IROC-Z. Plus, they’re much, much more reliable. Now I will freely admit, Brad, that life isn’t always as easy as choosing between an adorable miniature pony raised by nuns and the penultimate icon of Eighties douchery (nugget jewelry notwithstanding), but you might want to run a quick cost-benefit analysis and see what you come up with. My guess is that you could sunbathe shirtless wearing neon-green plum smugglers on the hood of your classic IROC for a whole Saturday in the parking lot of Barton Springs Pool and still not get a fraction of the strange that a quick stroll through the park with a miniature nun pony would get you. Your call, Brad. If you want to while away the hours on your back in some dank garage trying to resuscitate your Uncle Rico glory days by cobbling together a rebuild of the car you got your first HJ in, go ahead, but let’s not pretend this is a legitimate attempt at solving your transportational issues; otherwise you would be asking how often you should rotate the tires on your Honda Fit. There is at least hope for you, Brad, because apparently you still talk to your dad, which is uncharacteristic of Camaro owners. Even though there is something less than a half-percent chance your father was OK with your Camaro purchase (and you bought it anyway), you may want to listen to him about the fuel pump/filter thing. Sounds spot on to me. Either that or Pepperjack has an even shorter, cuter buddy named Cimarron who is pretty spicy himself!