Pardon Me Sir, Is This YOUR Inferiority Complex?

I was cruising home from work yesterday, along the small rural highway that leads to my quaint little house in the country. Sunshine was glittering on the scenic waterway as I passed over the bridge, and I was watching all the people out sailing in their beautiful yachts...

Wait. Are you getting an image of me in a gleaming white convertible, with oversized Dolce and Gabbana sunglasses on, a scarf on my head, the ends of which are glamourously blowing in the breeze behind me?



Wrong.

In reality, I'm wearily speeding home in my wheezy Toyota, work-flattened hair plastered to my sweaty forehead. The windows are tightly closed and the air-conditioner is labouring noisily in the sweltering humidity. Oh, and every time I hit a bump it sounds like my muffler is going to fall off. The people on the yachts shake their heads in disdain as I drive by, sipping martinis to wash off some of the smog I left on their rose-coloured glasses.

I'm about 3 minutes from my house, and what do I see rounding the corner?

Basically, the equivalent of this.



I don't understand this phenomenon.

Utterly baffled.

To all lifted-truck owners:

The very first thought that leaps into my frontal lobe when I see your truck is that you must have a tiny Johnson.

That's right, Condoleeza.




Miniscule. Microscopic. Molecular.


Like, "Wait right there for a second, while I go get my magnifying glass...and make sure you keep your jeans and car keys handy."



Guys must be doing this truck-lifting thing for the benefit of other guys. That's the only explanation. Maybe the equivalent of women getting their nails done? Other chicks might notice your new French manicure, but guys won't give a hairy rat's patootie.

I don't know ANY woman whose panties spontaneously combust at the sight of a lifted truck. They don't get hot at the idea of being able stand on top of your tires and not have their head touch the top of the wheel-well. They don't swoon at the fact they have to climb a ladder just to go out for a beer run.

And don't even get me started on the redneck accoutrements that can be added! Rubber...*ahem* cojones hanging off of trailer-hitches that can be purchased in many fine Jacksonville retail centers. Double Confederate flags strapped to the tailgate. Bumper stickers screaming,



For God's sake boys, it's just flash just for the sake of being flashy!



You want flash??

I got yer flash right here!!


*BAM!*



*BAM BAM!!*



*BIFF!*


*POW!!*



Men? Put a trowel or a weed-whacker in your hand. Mow my lawn shirtless. Show off those muscles and plant a big tree for me.

That's what gets ME hot and bothered. Not a ridiculous vehicle.



Guys, if you're going to 'lift' your vehicle, you'd be better off driving this.



I'd get a laugh out of it, and wouldn't be so quick to judge the size of your...Chevette. Besides, you know what they say about guys that drive small cars!

That's right.

Small egos!