Hey Shithead!

I know… I know… I’m breaking my own rules here with my title, but I just couldn’t help myself. Yesterday, the subject of “chopped mercs” and their ubiquity came up over an Easter lunch session with the Cochrans and the Tardels. Both Keith and myself were ribbing the girls a bit over their love for 49-51 Mercs.

“Ford Taurus of the custom world.”

“I’d rather be a test tube baby.”

“Can I get a side of ’32 roadster in carrera red with that?”

And so on…

But then, Mary struck back. “You mean to tell me that you don’t wet your pants every time you see that scene from ‘Book of Love’ when Angelo pulls down that alley in his Merc?” She said it with the kind of fire in her eyes that suggested the jokes were over. And as she did so, Marcie was face deep in her iPhone. Seconds later, she popped up with this:

It’s the kind of debate killer that politicians dream about during election years. Check mate. Game over. Thanks for playing. The boys lose.