Greetings my brothers of the blade!
A thought approached me the other day and I wasn't able to shake it. I'm just going to come out with it: A man is not a man unless he off-roads. At first it seemed to specific to be universally true, but now, after a few days of Dew soaked consideration, I accept it as a truth as certain as Lucretia (my bitchin' Leatherman) is resting on my hip. If you haven't torn up a piece of this fine nations countryside with a glorious machine like my baby (a navy blue jeep), then you have no right to refer to yourself as a man.
This reminds me. If you do own a magnificent machine like my baby, and you don't give her the freedom she needs to flourish, then you'll be answering to me! I can't guarantee anything, but if history is any indicator then I will likely stab the shit out of your briefcase while you frantically try to figure out what it is you have done to incur my righteous anger. Well I'll tell you! That beautiful machine you have there, that lifted Jeep with the wench and cherry paint job has never been off-road, you yuppie poser bastard! Those sweet ass tires should be shredding sod and crushing stone, not driving you to an office job. This cannot stand!
Needless to say, I had to knock back some Chick-fil-a and a Mountain Dew Tall Boy to calm my nerves after I put the fear of manhood in that Jeep abuser. Another thought occurred to me while I sipped my Dew in my hideout and watched that wimp give his statement to the cops. I would make a good cop.