New Cars

At a time when petrol prices are rivaling bank fees for sheer ballsiness, nearly everyone I know is buying at least one new car.

Even my brother.

Mind you, with his penchant for faded glory, shopping on a six pack, poor impulse control and annoying our father; 'new' is probably not the best adjective to describe a 1989 Nissan Navara with an HRT engine and gearbox , illegal air-filter and little silver skulls for door locking knobs.

'Who would know it's illegal?' I asked.
'The cops.'
'Ah, that's a pity. They're just the sort who have the authority to book you. I mean if it was hairdressers, well, you'd be in the clear.'
'Hmmm funny. The engine is tagged too.'
'What's that mean?'
'You know, like the tags put on your water meter when it gets cut off for non-payment. Only it stops scrotes messing with the calibrations.'

Bless. I love the way he assumes everyone has a working knowledge of evading debt collectors, defrauding real estate agents, laughing at threats of credit listings and being aware of the two remaining video stores you can borrow from in the greater Adelaide metropolitan area.

And just to finish.

What I want to know is: how can a two year old freeze a computer, call emergency services on the phone, or (when in at the hospital) press the emergency button on the patient's remote control - all within three seconds of getting access to the buttons? How? It's not natural. Seriously.