Now I’m no formula 1 driver, but according to Cole Trickle the worst thing to do when faced with a head on collision is to stomp on the breaks. First, you run the risk of veering into even more hazardous circumstances and second, even if you manage to keep the car straight, the dick monkey behind you will likely ram you into a whiplash sponsored wonderland.

Thinking that a baby buck was no match for my American metal … um fiberglass … I floored the sucker, dreaming of venison stew and mounted antlers. To my surprise however, the agile creature pulled a Matrix-like mid-air time stoppage jammy the result of which was a kicked in windshield and a largely unscathed Bambi daddy.

In that instant I experienced a variety of emotions: gratitude to the Days of Thunder writers for helping me narrowly escape doom, empathy towards animal rights activists who suggest that we are encroaching on natural habitats, and embarrassment for … well … I indeed had a load in my shorts. Of course all three were ass-kicked to the curb a second later when the Honda driving Mexican Motorist to my rear collided with my now totaled muscle car. Clearly he wasn’t a movie buff.

I suppose I should be thankful. Bruises asides, I walked away from a horrific looking crash site. The bitch of it was neither the deer nor the cerveza sipper had insurance which left me paying for an accident I didn’t cause. Now you’d expect such behavior from socialistically inclined wildlife, but as for the Fast and the Furious wannabe out there, you sir should be ashamed. Seriously, it’s only fifteen minutes, amigo. And you know that lizard-like pitch man hablo Espanol. Thanks for the highway turd.

Jackson, I’m thinking of getting a personalized license plate. Any ideas?

Yes, stick your head in the oven. This sort of state sponsored Twinkie-dickness makes me want to cause a twenty-car pile up. The other day I saw this Ford Focus driving jacktard with a license plate that read “IBCROZIN”. I’m sure he meant to say “IB a delusional dickweed”, but someone who drives a Smart Car probably took that.

• A Related Question: Should I buy a Smart Car? Yes, of course, after all it is very smart. You just figured out how to never get laid again.

I feel like life is moving too fast. How can I slow down?

Time doesn’t pass you by. You experience every second. Want it to slow down?  Go to the dentist, stand in a bank line, or visit your mother-in-law.

Here’s the scene. You’re naked, comfortable, slightly aroused from an amazing tension-relieving hour with a sexy young thing who really knows her way around the body. Plus, you’ve been picking up on the signs. A smile. A bit of heavy breathing. Some slight innuendos about pressure and release. So you figure, why not ask for that little something extra.

Yeah, it’s usually about this time that you realize the “heavy breathing” was asthma-induced. The smile was in your imagination. And let’s face it, guys could turn a woman’s cough into a come-on if they’re optimistic and sporting wood.

Here’s a hard-learned lesson. If your masseuse is sporting all white and works at a doctor-referred physical therapy clinic, she probably isn’t going to jerk you off. More likely you’ll end up incarcerated and on the other end of that sexual dynamic.

A Related Note:  To be fair, not getting a happy ending at “Happy Endings Massage” is just false advertising and no one likes a liar.

A Related Note: When you are this poor, duct tape is considered clothing. There were many days when I would tape my Converses back together, or use that wonder material to hem some pants.

And remember, animal alcoholics are not the only ones to suffer. Pack members, pups, miscellaneous bitches who may or may not be those puppy’s mommas, they all suffer the consequences of a life gone astray.

What’s that?  It’s an ad for stain resistant carpet, you say?

Well who could have cracked that complex visual riddle?  Granted I’m standing in the flooring section of the Home Depot, but cut me some slack.  It’s 6am for Christ’s sake.  I’m not big on subtle.  Want to sell me?  Place your product in a frat house full of drunken, mud wrestling coeds with the school’s wildebeest mascot dropping a deuce in the background.  Then split screen that sum-bitch with a picture of baby lying on a pristine white carpet with a tagline that reads, “Like it never happened.”

I’d buy that.