Kylib Bin Laden and the Jewberu Crap Wagon

So if you read my last entry, we left our hero heading out into the rain to save his damsel in distress. Well not so much in distress, but arriving shortly at the airport and expecting a ride.

So I ventured out into the rain and walked the few blocks to the bus stop. It was a covered stop, but the wind just blew the rain (and hail by this time) right into the stop. I felt like I was standing in a baseball backstop with a million smurfs pitching fast balls at my face, it was good times. After about forty minutes or so of waiting I decided to call RTD (the bus company) and find out where this thing was. Come to find out that on Sundays the bus doesn’t run that way. Thanks RTD! Apparently you can ride the bus in Colorado, as long as you don’t want to ride it to church. So I asked this less than helpful person where I could find a bus that was running. She told me that I could walk a few miles to catch one. So I set out for the next stop a few miles away. I jogged a bit through the downpour and got there about forty five minutes later, just in time to catch the bus. And guess what, about a minute later it stopped raining. Fantastic. I decided I would let the bus driver know just what I thought about his company (in a nice playful way). He decided to let me know that because it was Sunday I would not be able to take the bus back from the airport after picking Lang up because the last bus that would bring me home was at 6:25pm and Lang’s plane didn’t land until 6:33pm. Fantastic. So I jumped back on the phone and called a few people back. After getting ahold of my youngest brother, I jumped off the bus in the middle of nowhere. Seriously, there wasn’t even a stop for like three miles.

My brother gets there shortly after I convince the driver to stop and let me off. The sun had come out and done a pretty good job of drying my outer layers though and that was nice. it also warmed me up and that was great. When I had asked him to let me borrow his car earlier in the day he had said that he had left it by the side of the road and he couldn’t get to it because his mom wasn’t home. Well his mom had gotten home and she took him to get it. Then he got me and I dropped him off at his house. Enter the Jewberu Crapwagon. I didn’t name the car, my brother did. This car has been in their family for a very long time, and for clarification, they are a Jewish family. It’s a Suberu Legacy, but my brother calls it the Jewberu Crapwagon, it’s his car and he can call it whatever he wants. Anyway, the Jewberu Crapwagon saved me yesterday.

The Jewberu Crapwagon

The bullet hole.

I would have blocked out the license plate number, but my younger sister took care of that a while back for me.

So driving this piece of shit is like sitting in a shopping cart full of rusty car parts and rolling yourself down Q-Bert’s pyramid. It bangs and rattles and every minute you are afraid that something is going to fall off. The headlights are taped in, the back doors were BOTH ripped off by someone backing out of the garage with them open (not at the same time). There is a bullet hole in the side and in one of the head rests and the tires have a habit of going flat instantly. It’s a great car. Oh and the alignment is so terrible that you have to hold the wheel as if you were turning 90 to the right just to get it to stay on the road. Fantastic.

But shitty car or not, I was on my way!!

some of you may know that the DNC (democratic national convention) is going to be held in Denver this month, so security all around Denver is heightened especially at the airport.

So I roll up to the airport right around 4:50pm or so and go to park in the short term lot so I can go in and wait for Lang in the terminal (at DIA you can’t get past the terminal without a boarding pass, it’s the most secure airport in the world according to Time magazine.). Well I drive past this cop who gives me the eye as I drive past and he signals his buddy up at the entrance. The buddy cop waves me over to the side and I oblige. I’m not in the best mood by this time and as anyone who knows me can testify, I have a bit of a smart mouth when upset. Here is the conversation that followed.

Officer #1: How are you doing today?

Me: I’m sorry officer, was I speeding?

Officer #2: Step out of the vehicle please sir.

Me: Why?

Officer #1: We just need to ask you a few questions.

Me: Fantastic.

They asked questions like “Do you have any hostile feelings towards the US government/” and “Are you dealing with feelings of depression?”

Finally I asked why they had pulled me out and asked me to get out of the car. Well they pointed out some things I should have thought about.

Wires hanging down from the broken seat belt apparently look like fuses. Fantastic.

The air tank for the tires in the back looks like a propane tank that could be rigging to blow up.

So they grilled me about what I was doing there and made me show them ID and asked who the car belong too. I told them it belong to my step dad’s ex wife. They asked if they could call my step dad, I said “you can try” they asked for the phone number, and I told them he had been dead for four years. They were “getting sick of my bullshit”. So I gave them my step brothers phone number and they called and asked to speak with his mom, who then confirmed my story. After about twenty minutes of hoping I wasn’t going to be subjected to a full cavity search I was allowed to park and go into the airport, though I did notice I was being followed pretty closely for a while and the first time I pushed a button on my iPod I think at least one person shit a brick. But at the end of the day I picked up lang and she did not mind riding in the rolling turd that is the Jewberu Crapwagon.