Saturday, May 16, 2009

Part 17- My Fantastic Supreme 2009 Indy 500 Photo Diary Blog Type Thang: HotWheels At Indy

Mattel/HotWheels, Inc., LLC, is now a major sponsor for all things IndyCar.

They’ve been kind enough to pour eleventy billion dollars into the sport of real and shiny and fast Indy racing, and in return they were allowed to plaster their trademarked logos all over everything at IMS.

As evidence of this fact, I cite the following picture.

This is a life-sized version of a HotWheels car.

Its coolness cannot be underestimated, even though it is an old beastly Panoz showcar sled with no engine.

What kid wouldn’t want to have this car in his collection?

I had a humongous HotWheels car collection when I was a young disgruntled youth….damn near a suitcase full of the things.

They would be worth untold millions today.

Unfortunately, all of my HotWheels cars met with a gruesome fate.

See…I was not only a disgruntled youth. I was also extremely destructive.

Once I grew tired of my HotWheels, I would crush them in my dad’s woodworking vise, or smash them with a ball peen hammer, or set them alight in a hellish conflagration using some sort of liquid accelerant.

One day I was sitting on my front step, merrily crunching some selected vehicles from my collection with a mallet, when my uncle arrived for a visit.

He was none too pleased at seeing me destroy objects he had probably given to me as a birthday present a few weeks before.

Therefore, he felt it necessary to give me a smart thump on my thick noggin with his Indiana University class ring.

Who could blame him?

In our family, close relatives were certainly within their rights to hand out discipline when necessary.

I guess it really is true.

It does take a village.

Or something.


Anyhoo…today I have a very small collection of HotWheels displayed on a dusty windowsill in my garage, because my garage is where all my cool shit is.

And if my boys touch my HotWheels, I will hurt them too.


No comments:

Post a Comment

Feel free to comment away with your bad-ass selves.

Cursing and foul language is fine...even encouraged here. In fact, I think cussing is fucking wonderful.

Just remember...this is MY house, and I will not be insulted or maliciously messed with here.

Good-natured ribbing is cool, but if you and I don't have some kind of previous relationship, you had best mind your fucking manners or I will relegate you to the intardnets dustbin for being a cunt.

To know me is to love me.

Or something.