If I wake up to the sound of a one of those loud-ass hogs one more time I am gonna do something that I'll regret even more than most of my actions. I don't mind loud subwoofers in little cars driving by (I'd mind it even less if the music they played was better [why is the the quality of music someone listens to inversely proportional to the amount of money they spend on their systems?]) nearly as much as the sound of some recent retiree with a newfound sense of freedom who's decided to redefine his identity with a $75,000 Harley Davidson (Extra Loudening Package).
Earlier today I uttered (typed) some new famous last words: "I'm gonna install this DVD burner, brb." Three hours later I was in the floor with a screwdriver and a fistful of IDE cables, cussing that confounded contraption in between the sobs.
The Poomonster and I enjoyed a cheer-driven, guided tour of Illinois(e) courtesy of Sufjan Stevens last night. Good stuff!
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MOTORCYCLES ARE LOUD
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