Hey, this morning, I saw a kid riding around in one of those Powerwheels cars kids used to have when I was little. (Other kids — not me. My parents obviously didn’t love me.) Remember Powerwheels? The jingle was “Pow-pow-Powerwheels!” and they were thirty pounds of plastic powered by a car battery. I thought they were awesome. My backdoor neighbor had a Barbie Jeep ™ that featured working windsheild wipers — and this was very cool at the time — a car phone. Why you would need wipers for a windsheild that came up to your nipples is beyond me now, but back then it was, to borrow a phrase from the Engrish, quite top of cool.
But what I’m getting at is that instead of white and pink plastic, this kid was driving around an Escalade. Seriously. Rims and everything. Sitting in my Ford, I felt a little bit of an inferiority complex coming on. Sure, my car’s highway legal, but this kid was not only bouncin’ with mad style, but had managed to escape the Escalade’s 14 mpg highway fuel economy. The little bastard was having his cake and eating it, too.
And that is what is wrong with America today.
