High Toned Son of a Bitch

In an effort to live the American dream, I've been contemplating a big purchase. My ruminations on living large began with a motorcycle. Either a Ducati or a Harley. While sitting my rump a top a 650 lb steel dragon at the motorcycle show, I realized a cycle is only good for like 3 months out of the year. And where would I store it? My garage is already filled with dead hookers and a fishing boat.

After deciding the motorcycle wasn't all that practical, I focused my attention on a new stereo amp/receiver. I had recently blown a mud hole in a 300 watt Yamaha amp in the midst of a serious Sabbath air guitar session. Should I go all audiophile on the bit, or get the most bang for the buck? There is bound to be more blistering Sabbath licks spewed forth from 31st Ave North in the near future. Decisions, decisions.

While walking my dog on Saturday I happened by a Baptist church. There, sitting restless in the driveway was this chariot forged directly from the scorching magma of hell. The Oldsmobile Toronado. The car that makes satan himself sit bitch. The "swing low" street machine made for breaking hearts and dropping panties. The last car that I would ever think would be parked in a church lot.

Boner.

I need this.