What's the Difference between a Moped and a Goped?
In the words of Valerie Evans, one Mo's and one Go's. What's the difference between my moped's powerful engine and an obese diseased three-legged hamster sleeping in an excercise wheel? Not much.
Towards the end of 2004, while riding the Yamaha Vino motorscooter (which I had won on The Price is Right) to campus for a final, my rear tire exploded and I found myself face to face with death. With few other options and only minutes to spare before my final, I leapt through midair into the open top of a Chrysler Lebaron that happened to be in the lane beside me; with a personalized license plate that read "STAMOS". The impact was quite violent, as my body was still travelling at the 90 or so miles an hour my 34cc Moped had propelled me to, but my fall was broken by the lap of none other than a certain Stamos. I was blinded as the moped gently tapped into a parked ford pinto which quickly erupted into a ball of flames, but with my hands, as I tried to lift myself off the stranger into the next seat could feel long flowing hair, soft feminine features, and... hard muscular pectorals? Damnit, it was John Stamos. I mumbled a few curses under my breath and fantasized breifly about Rebecca. John interrupted my fantasy with a pitch for some shitty long-distance phone company, and thrust several phone cards in my direction. I slapped him in the face and told him to "Cut-It-Out," accompanied of course by exactly the same hand motions that Uncle Joey used to use in "Full House."
Anyways, the moped was out of commission and I made the mistake of parking it in my driveway for an extended period of time. It must have caught the eye of some passerby hooligans, as one morning I awoke and the moped had vanished. A quick call to the police and the moped turned up abandoned in a neighborhood less than 2 blocks from my house. It had been hotwired and joy-ridden. The license plates and the mirrors were missing, gouges were missing from body panel where they'd accessed the ignition, and the whole thing had been wiped clean of prints. I walked it sadly back to my garage, where I tucked it in a corner and forgot all about it.
Days passed, bus rides to school drug on, tests were taken, beers were consumed, women were flirted with, chores were neglected, and then one day I recieved a check for 600 bucks for a sale I'd made on ebay. I ordered the necessary replacement parts and set Brian immediately to work with the soldering iron, restoring the electrical systems of my Moped to factory condition.
I stripped the Moped completely down to its frame. It was alot like working with legos, except bigger, and less sturdy. I expected it to get lighter as I went, and thought about race modifying it as I worked, except flimsy piece after flimsy piece came off of it and I realized that nothing but the frame served any purpose other than decoration. When the pieces finally came, I wrestled the whole thing back together and drove it proudly to the top of one of the highest hills in San Luis Obispo and took some pictures of the city. I get 106 miles to the gallon on that bad boy so I can pretty much go wherever the hell I want.
Moped theives, rot in Hell, and picture me storming your bedroom while you sleep, mounted on my moped like a cavalry fighter, wielding my KA-BAR cutlass machete of justice and delivering to you your comeuppance with a swift thrust into the empty cavity where your heart should be, then turning around and putting off into the night, back into the comfort of my good karma.
I win.
Towards the end of 2004, while riding the Yamaha Vino motorscooter (which I had won on The Price is Right) to campus for a final, my rear tire exploded and I found myself face to face with death. With few other options and only minutes to spare before my final, I leapt through midair into the open top of a Chrysler Lebaron that happened to be in the lane beside me; with a personalized license plate that read "STAMOS". The impact was quite violent, as my body was still travelling at the 90 or so miles an hour my 34cc Moped had propelled me to, but my fall was broken by the lap of none other than a certain Stamos. I was blinded as the moped gently tapped into a parked ford pinto which quickly erupted into a ball of flames, but with my hands, as I tried to lift myself off the stranger into the next seat could feel long flowing hair, soft feminine features, and... hard muscular pectorals? Damnit, it was John Stamos. I mumbled a few curses under my breath and fantasized breifly about Rebecca. John interrupted my fantasy with a pitch for some shitty long-distance phone company, and thrust several phone cards in my direction. I slapped him in the face and told him to "Cut-It-Out," accompanied of course by exactly the same hand motions that Uncle Joey used to use in "Full House."
Anyways, the moped was out of commission and I made the mistake of parking it in my driveway for an extended period of time. It must have caught the eye of some passerby hooligans, as one morning I awoke and the moped had vanished. A quick call to the police and the moped turned up abandoned in a neighborhood less than 2 blocks from my house. It had been hotwired and joy-ridden. The license plates and the mirrors were missing, gouges were missing from body panel where they'd accessed the ignition, and the whole thing had been wiped clean of prints. I walked it sadly back to my garage, where I tucked it in a corner and forgot all about it.
Days passed, bus rides to school drug on, tests were taken, beers were consumed, women were flirted with, chores were neglected, and then one day I recieved a check for 600 bucks for a sale I'd made on ebay. I ordered the necessary replacement parts and set Brian immediately to work with the soldering iron, restoring the electrical systems of my Moped to factory condition.
I stripped the Moped completely down to its frame. It was alot like working with legos, except bigger, and less sturdy. I expected it to get lighter as I went, and thought about race modifying it as I worked, except flimsy piece after flimsy piece came off of it and I realized that nothing but the frame served any purpose other than decoration. When the pieces finally came, I wrestled the whole thing back together and drove it proudly to the top of one of the highest hills in San Luis Obispo and took some pictures of the city. I get 106 miles to the gallon on that bad boy so I can pretty much go wherever the hell I want.
Moped theives, rot in Hell, and picture me storming your bedroom while you sleep, mounted on my moped like a cavalry fighter, wielding my KA-BAR cutlass machete of justice and delivering to you your comeuppance with a swift thrust into the empty cavity where your heart should be, then turning around and putting off into the night, back into the comfort of my good karma.
I win.
posted by danielgingras at 10:33 PM
1 Comments:
As a comment for the cotillion picutres in teh gallery. I am not wearing pants as to keep the crease in them. It's an old conductors trick i learned from Bob Cobb.
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