|Wednesday, August 11, 2004|
source: Douchebags Are Wild
posted: August 11, 2004, 2:01 pm
by: cd de la w
You are tooling down the highway. The universe has just announced that it will be shutting down
soon. Apparently it was unable to get past the one big mistake it made early on: creation.
The car in the lane to your left is projecting porno outward on its side windows in the hopes of causing drivers in your lane to loose control because every car crashing in YOUR lane is a point for ITS lane.
On its passenger-side door facing you, written out in white adhesive tape, is the driving ideology behind its driver's life, the lives of his lane-mates, and of most drivers in most lanes: "My lane, right or wrong!", which likewise echoes back from your door facing his passenger-side.
The driver's name is Joe Driver. His passenger's name is Lisa Passenger. After a while, they release a carrier pigeon. His name is Walter Pidgeon or Paul Carriere. On the soundtrack, John Ashcroft, benign dictator of the history of the time, is singing his hit single, Let the Pigeon Fly. He is famous for having a hit single like this for every bird, all of which have become the number 1 song of all time because who among you would dare step forward to single out a species of bird which should NOT be let fly. And fortunately, when Let the Chicken Fly became number 1 with a bullet, people had figured out a way in their heads to not have words mean anything anymore, so it didn't matter.
But, suddenly, the film running on the side window of the car in the lane to your left switches imperceptibly from porno through the histories of cinema, soap opera, and literature respectively, and you can't tell the difference because there is no difference.
Then, almost as suddenly and twice as imperceptibly, the shot dissolves into being just a real-time shot of what's going on inside the car, and it's a shot of all the things you couldn't see through the window from your vantage point, like what's happening on the floor in the rear.
But still, all you really see are ultimately just fragments of arms and legs and hands and random objects rising and falling into and out of the frame, so it could be something brutal and something sexual, or it could just be washing red lettuce and cauliflower for a salad.
...until you realize it's not the same car. Your lane has imperceptibly been picking up speed so now you're doing about 450, which is the perfect strobe rate to converge the 24 cars you pass per second into a single frozen image of a single car, with only the film projected from inside each on the side window changing so smoothly you can't even tell if there are cuts, though the difference between what's really happening and what you're seeing is like the difference between MTV at 3 am and MTV at 9 pm. Or MTV in 1980 and MTV today.