Camaros

The reason we all love and admire Camaro drivers is because they serve as totems for our own pasts: we fondly remember the days when we too were as fast as the wind, six-cylinders roaring and rock-hard erections bulging from our acid wash jeans. (I’m assuming no female has ever owned or operated a Camaro.) Also, the Camaro transcends regional differences: simply change out the music genre blasting at a vulgar level from the tape deck. Lynyrd Skynyrd in the South and honky-tonk in Texas. Grunge out West and whatever bullshit music they listen to up North. Jazz, I’m guessing. Your cousin Anthony probably drove a Camaro before he went to prison.

Rating: 95%*

*There is a slight chance I accidentally reviewed Firebirds and not Camaros. If this is true then I say FUCK CAMAROS FIREBIRDS KICK ASS!

(Image from www.thirdgen.org. This review written by Viking Andrew.)

The Richardson Public

Unlike Austinites, who would stand around making fun of your cargo shorts and rolling their eyes at the gasping noises you made as you lay dying on the sidewalk, the people of Richardson are generally very helpful and friendly. Our car broke down outside Blockbuster today, and as we were trying to push it across the street to the garage a woman offered to watch our son in his stroller, four men in a truck got out to help us push, and another guy tried (unsuccessfully) to give us a boost. As we were pushing the car back from the garage, like the broke-ass Canadians we are, another man gave us another (successful) boost and we were able to drive our Japanese rust-bucket home. Richardson may look like one giant strip mall, but I'm very impressed with the kind folks who live here (except for the sketch-bag mechanics who we think messed with our brand new alternator while they were supposed to be fixing our air conditioning earlier today.)

RATING: People of Richardson 90%
Firestone Tire and Service Center 0%

(Image from www.tutorials.com.)