Here. She’s gone. I’m here. Now…


I’m sure we all recall the story of the
Lexus and how Kurt got all butt-hurt Courtney

bought the damnable thing. Stop for a minute.
I can see his point. I’m poor and I don’t like

when rich people rub it in my face either.
I mean, this is a guy who slept in E.R.

waiting rooms in Washington hospitals and
hung out under a bridge writing songs about

how eating fish is OK, because they don’t
have any feelings. Something in the way? You

said it, brother, and I hear you loud and clear.
That said, I can see her side of things as well.

I live in Florida. It’s 90 degrees.
My car’s air conditioner is broken and

will cost seven hundred dollars to repair.
Honestly? It might as well be a million.

I’m still paying back the government all the
back taxes I owe them after botching a

do-it-yourself tax service in back to back
tax seasons. Death and taxes, man … fuck them both.

Fuck them right in their stupid fucking asses.
There’s a reason that sentence is eleven

syllables. Why? I don’t know. Coincidence?
Whatever. Back to the car. I know it’s a

paltry thing to complain about. “Oh, boo hoo.
Woe is me. It’s hot and I don’t like it.” Uh…

Damned right. Again, it’s 90 … in the shade. And
you know what all those Ohio transplants in

Phoenix say about “dry heat”? The opposite
is true here. The midday air can drown you if

you breathe too much of it in. And in a car,
on a hot asphalt road, at a red light that

lasts for five minutes, cars chugging hot exhaust
out their tailpipes, shitty auto-tuned hip hop

songs being played at max volume on all sides?
That’s Hell, folks. Every red light I stop at

is Hell. All I can do is grin and bear it.
Can’t complain; no one would listen anyway.

They’re too busy wondering what it means to
Superman that hoe. It’s a sex thing, people.

It has nothing to do with the Man of Steel.
If I start a band, I’ll call it The Cleveland

Steamers and name the first album Bae, pronounced
Bay, as in Michael, director of all the

Transformers flicks. By the way, Bae in Danish
means “Poop.” Don’t blush. We all do it. So yeah, uh…

if I could buy a Lexus I would, because
it would probably have air conditioning.

I wouldn’t buy it for status. Janis once
sang “Oh Lord … won’t you buy me a Mercedes

Benz? My friends all drive Porsches, I must make a-
-mends.” She just wanted a reliable car,

right? Am I misunderstanding her point or
what? I sure would like to ask her, but she’s not…


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