“I’m trying. I’m trying to get behind
the supposed sense of security one gets from a towering
vehicle with virtual brush guards and imaginary force fields,
where you never get lost and you are impervious to the armor
and shrapnel from eco-terrorists and pagan savages with
semi-automatic weapons.”
“Security is a misnomer,” she explained. “It
is a word that should be banned from the English language.
This car does not make us more secure. It ratchets up our
reliance on those loveable knuckleheads in OPEC. It makes
us less secure.”
“Wow. That’s sounds like something I would
say. Now I really want to mate with you.”
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“No, you want to climb back into the uterus, and
this monstrosity of a vehicle is a surrogate mother for
you.” She reached over and turned up the heat on the
seat warmers. Figuring that out is second nature for chicks.
Hmmm. A stainless steel womb, with xenon lights.
“Everything is blue and silver,” I said. “I
don’t remember the womb being this... aesthetically
cold.”
“The womb isn’t. This is more like a space
ship than a womb. It’s a common Jungian error you
made. You are like all of those people on daytime talk shows
saying they were abducted by aliens and zapped into a flying
machine that will take them back to Planet Scientology.”
“So. Do you want to have kids?”
“With you?”
“With me.”
“No. I want to rock and roll, but only if you can
figure out how to lower the tailgate.”
“Turn up the Saints, then.”
DER-Duh Dah, Duh, DAH DAH DAH DAH DAH DAH DAH DAH DAHH…
(Cole Coonce is the author of INFINITY OVER ZERO: MEDITATIONS
ON MAXIMUM VELOCITY and COME DOWN FROM THE HILLS AND MAKE
MY BABY. More of his work can be found on www.kerosenebomb.com)
