where the writers are
Pt. III This Morning at the Car Dealership
What's better than a Ka-50?  The 52; it has a passenger seat - hooya!

I awoke feeling refreshed this morning. Instead of the burden of digesting twenty pounds of spaghetti and Swedish meatballs, as would inevitably have happened if I did not impulsively throw it all down the toilet - with the advent of the cow's head on my door step last night, I had a normal bowel movement, and then went to the local car dealership to see what sort of helicopter gunships were available for purchase. Last night I did some research. I checked the website of the nearest local car dealer; the Kamov Ka-50 was advertised as having a new low price and was available for immediate take off.

I was very excited about this new vehicle, and I spoke softly to Horned Beast as I rode her all the way to the dealership, saying, “it's okay my black steel-framed beauty, you're going to have a bigger sister to look up to,” and “awe, my poor baby bicycle, don't worry, she can carry you wherever you want to go.”

Imagine my dismay when I arrived to lay mine eyes upon such splendid aeronautical engineering and aesthetic pleasing smooth angularity – to find that it was not there! Instead, and to my immediate satisfaction, Mr. Cartrite, the salesman, recommended instead the Kamov Ka-52, which was even better than the Ka-50! It is a two-seater, for one thing, it has a nice little rounded nose, and it is pitch black. Awesome.

“I'll take it!” I said to Mr. Cartrite.

“Okay then, sounds good, buddy,” he said as we walked toward his little office. “I'll just need you to fill out some forms and sign this waiver and sub-contract with the Department of Defense.”

“Sure, where is your pen?”

“You need to read the contract first, Mr., uh-”

“Jenski. Sure, no problem.”

"And fill out all of the other forms."

"Okay, sure."

A few minutes later.

“Okay, looks fine and dandy, let's give ol' Ka-52 a spin!”

We walked over to the Kamov Ka-52, walking my sad little Horned Beast on my right, and Mr. Cartrite on the left.

“Well, Mr. Jenski, you are now the proud owner of this fiiiiine Kamov Ka-52, and don't forget, you have a two-year warrenty, so let me know if you run into any problems down the, uh, road. Okay?”

But I wasn't listening to Cartrite, I was petting the handle bars of Horned Beast, talking like one of those terribly annoying mom's to her baby, “now it's alright little baby, you'll get the first ride in my new helicopter.” Then I became quite firm, even relentless in tone, “but when the first hot chick comes along who digs me because she's actually in love with my helicopter, she's mine, baby, and you're out in the shed for awhile, kiddo – got that.”

Cartrite's eye's bulged somewhat, his face frozen in dumbfoundedness, shoulders slouched as if he forgot where he was, as he witnessed me being a weirdo. I stood up and turned around to say good bye to the salesman.

“Don't worry about it man, I'm only joking – hey – where are the keys.”

“Oh, right, right here. Thank you for your business.” And then, capturing his cognitive processing back from witnessing the strange shock of a man talking to his bicycle (“it isn't even a nice bike! And a man should only talk to a fancy car like that, anyway!” thought Cartrite – I'm sure he thought this. Positive.) like a little child, Mr. Cartrite said, “come back soon, ya hear!”