Car Wars

My brother is a cross between Jabba the Hutt and Brett Favre. Which is surprising considering I bear a striking resemblance to Daniel Craig. I've pressed my Ma over and over about the possibility that either one of us was switched at birth, but she sticks to her guns that we're kin.

My "brother" recently purchased one of these. He's a big fan of the Dukes of Hazzard, so much so that he had the doors of his new car welded shut and this attached to the driver's side mirror. It was all well and good until he shimmied across the hood of the car and then got wedged in the window. The local fire department wanted to use the Jaws of Life to rescue him, but he only agreed to a tub of Crisco and a crowbar, which ultimately did the trick and only nicked the paint a little.

If I sound bitter and jealous and petty, nothing could be further from the truth. Never mind the fact I called Jimmy Three-Legs downtown to inquire on the current black market value of my two girls. Turns out even the Houston mafia heard about Claire's potty training woes, which put me about $30k short of trumping my brother's sweet chariot. But hey, no skin of my back. I'd much rather have my beautiful family than a Dodge Charger. Yes. Uh huh. Definitely.

Bro and his wife are coming for Turkey break; he's already messing with me, saying he's not going to bring the car. But I plan on breaking out the big guns. I'm going to offer him his very own turkey if he drives the Charger. Soon, sweet driving bliss will be mine.