As is the law here in the great state of Texas, I drive a truck. I have a heavy ass floor jack under the back seat which slides forward and jams into my driver’s seat when I make sudden stops. Thankfully I have a headrest on that seat so as to avoid whiplash after making such a stop.
I have a bed liner, however it’s not sprayed in.
Shameful. I know.
The tint job on the passenger window is in need of attention from someone other than a Texas DPS officer.
When I park, I back it in.
It’s the law.
For years, I’ve made the occasional remark that I need a battering ram for the front bumper.
Granted the reasons for uttering such wishes weren’t the most wholesome. Most of the times such delusions of grandeur made themselves known were definitely upon incidents on the motorway which could have served as seeds for road rage. None the less, I’ve never really followed through with having a battering ram installed.
Did I mention sudden stops earlier?
Sure I did.
In the last week or so, the truck has emitted a grinding noise whenever I hit the break pedal. Yeah, that’s not good so I decided to put a call into the mechanic extraordinaire today in order to have him check it out.
A few years ago, I employed the services of a national chain to take care of my stopping needs. Over the next few years I had the truck back in their shop at least twice a year trying to get the unscrupulous bastards (my perception, not theirs) to make good on their *ahem* warranty. The last time I was in there, I went next door to the movie theater to wait while they attended to my truck.
The offering of theatrical releases was pretty lame at the time, because I found myself watching the fourth Pirates of the Caribbean movie. Whereas I didn’t really make an attempt to watch the first three, I was hard pressed to give a rat’s ass as to what was going on.
Swearing off the other guys who presumably specialize in brakes, I decided that if I was going to get screwed by a mechanic, it would be the one I’ve used for nearly 20 years. He’s good and has always been honest with us and several members of the family.
When I dropped off the truck today, I found out something about our beloved mechanic that I hadn’t known before.
The man partakes in gunsmithery. I don’t know if that’s a real word, but it’s pretty self explanatory.
You know what this means don’t you?
I have a kick-ass, honest mechanic who can help me to realize my Second Amendment dreams.
Let’s put it in even more simple terms.
This man can weaponize my truck.
We don’t need no stinking battering ram!
Instead, we need front fenders which open up to reveal automatic weaponry.
We need the side rails which extend out in a multifunctional manner to widen a parking spot or clear any debris in my blind spot with horizontally launched rockets.
The wonderful thing is that I just found out today that the man who can James Bondify my truck has been there at my beckon call all this time.
It’s just too bad I didn’t win Powerball last night. To think I would have pursued philanthropic causes with that cash instead of having a few “special modifications” to the truck is quite disturbing.