I Will Holy Ghostride This Whip
by ALAN GREENSPAN
The other day, I'm rolling through a neighborhood I don't normally visit, keeping the car kinda slow, worrying about pre-teens ripping out of driveways on motorized scooters, piece-of-shit teenagers throwing crap into the road and trying to fuck up my ride, idiot toddlers crabwalking into traffic, the usual bullshit.
I'm a good driver. I roll like fucking velvet. I'm cautious on narrow residential streets, especially when there are bigass trucks blocking half of them and making it even more likely than I'm gonna pancake someone's HONORS STUDENT AT PICKNOSE ELEMENTARY. I'm cautious, but I'm sexy. I'm playing Otis Redding at the time.
Just as I'm keeping my fingers on the wheel all clit-slippery supple and coasting past another car parked way off the curb, I spot something. It's this:
Like, holy shit. HOLY SHIT. What the fuck is that? I dunno, so I turn to my co-pilot, Jesus, and I'm like, "Yo, is that your car, Man, Son of Man?" and he's all, "Fuck no!"
I'm like, "Yeah? It says that's yours right on the plate," and he gets angry and spanks the dashboard exactly on the goddamn part of it that says AIRBAG like he's trying to get the Holy Ghost to fart out of my car interior, and he's like, "No way, dude. I roll in the Volkswagen. The Hitler car. That's the way I fuck with all the squares. I fuck 'em up in the head." And I laugh, but still I'm like, "Whoa, Jesus!—watch the f-bombs. This is a family car. It's a Camry, ok?" Then he says, "Sorry," and I'm like, "Ahahaha, you bitch! You fucking caved! You're a fucking bitch! More like Son of Man-Ass!"
Anyway, I pass Jesus the iPhone, and I tell him to get some snaps of the Beemer in question, but he starts whipping his right hand back and forth and doing snaps and, like, Christ-stacking and shit, and I'm getting pissed off, because he's a good co-pilot, but he sucks as a photographer. Look at the framing he went for. It fucking blows.
So I tell him how to hold the iPhone and tap the part of the display where he wants it to focus, and I kinda inch The Camride closer to the target, but Jesus is just fucking shit up left, right and center. I reach for the iPhone to show him how to do it, but he gets all huffy like a fucking woman and holds it away from me. Just then, as we're starting to get into it, there's a HUGE honk from behind us, because there's a closet homo in a Ford F-350 with a giant diesel engine and three aerials coming off the top of the cab like penises he wants on him, and he can't get around us and keep driving.
Naturally, I'm like, "Yo, Jesus, can you go take care of this?" figuring he'll whip out some kinda wicked voodoo on Gay Ford Man, and Jesus nods kinda dopily and gives me the iPhone and gets out of the car and fucks off back to where the truck is. Just as I've unbuckled my seatbelt and leaned over to get a good pic without part of the car frame in the way, I hear, "WHAT THE FUCK IS THIS FAGGOT SHIT?" and I look back and realize that Jesus has gotten up on the truck's running board and is holding this plastic tub and is, like, offering to wash the truck dude's feet. So, fuck it, I just lay on the horn and yell out the window, "Get your fuckin narrow ass back here before you die again for your shit!"
Jesus books back to the car, and we drive off, and it's cool, because I'm pretty sure we can get some snaps of the car on the way back, but still I'm pissed. I'm like, "What the fuck were you thinking?" and he's like, "I know that guy's a Baptist." And I'm like, "Yeah, but does HE know?" Goddamnit. Jesus doesn't know whatthefuck.
Cut to about 30 minutes later, and we're rolling back after loading up at the primo beer store—12 different four-packs of solid microbrew action, gonna make Jesus a hop-head—and the Beemer's still there. I slow down and try to get some snaps my damn self, but the angle and light's all wrong, and anyway there's a pickup truck fucking up part of the shot, so I go up the street some more and flip a bitch, then get Jesus to try to make this shit correct and finally frame the damn car. Here's what he got:
You can tell he sorta had a handle on stuff now, but he still missed the bigger picture. I mean, here's this $50,000 BMW in front of a house that needs a righteous paint job, has a big fucking BOAT in front of it, and has got a ton of pickup trucks around it. How the fuck did a Beemer get in there? Also, is there a Black Jesus Christ? If there is, I sure as shit wasn't rolling with him. Motherfucker disavowed that car. And why would The Black JC be hanging with a bunch of crackers with a big shitty boat and a big shitty house and a buncha trucks they probably throw poached animals in?
We were trying to get this shit straight and get a better snap when some lady shaped like the world's biggest Russian nesting doll came out and was all, "WHAT ARE YOU DOING HERE? YOU'RE BLOCKIN MY DRIVEWAY. WHO DO YOU THINK YOU ARE???" and Jesus is all polite about it and, "Ma'am, you need to chill out just a second," and she's like, "CHILL OUT? YOU NEED TO GET OUT OF MY WAY!!!"
Anyway, crazy bitch goes on for a bit, and I kinda try to get some snaps without her noticing that I'm totally blowing her off, but eventually she spots me leaning over with the camera and starts flipping out on me, so I toss the iPhone in Jesus' lap and jerk a thumb at him and am all, "FINE, LADY. HE FORGIVES YOU" and just roll the fuck out of there. I ain't seen that fuckin car since, but I don't know what that means. There's probably a Black Jesus, though. Just stands to reason. Not like I believe in him anyway. But if he's got a ride that dope, dayenu.
Now, I know the first thing you're going to ask about all this is probably something like, "Alan, is hanging out with this guy what you meant when you said that you 'make the ladies see God?'" And that's a good question, because he's the fucking Son of God, which is also God, which is just beshittingly complex but also cool as hell. But anyway, the answer to that is no, because I was totally talking about fucking them with my huge rod.
Alan Greenspan is a senior fellow in Your Girlfriend.