When we pulled up at the restaurant to meet the crew for Sean's dinner, everyone who was already there ran toward my car. "PLEASE tell us you brought your camera. We all forgot ours. You've GOT to see this Saturn."
"Uh-oh," I said. "Where's the car?" They pointed me off to the left. Before I even saw the car, I saw the glow.Glow is a bad sign. It's the ricer equivalent of a cancer symptom. The appearance of a glow indicates severe ricer issues - ones that, as we well know, can only be dealt with by liberal usage of a digital camera.
Jeff handed me the camera and I started shooting. Thankfully, I did not lose sight of the car in the dark; the neon tacked onto the undercarriage and the strobe lights placed in the taillights ensured that this Saturn, this ricer beacon of hope, would not be lost from my eyes.
Either that, or I was just hypnotized by the awfulness. I'm not sure which.
I snapped photos of the back, chuckled at the oversized fartpipe, giggled at the rear decals, and asked Kat, "Is there anything else I need to photograph?" She crooked her finger at me and pointed at the front.
Sure, glow-in-the-dark decals make your car very easy to find in those dark parking lots, and glow-in-the-dark windshield wipers probably work by scaring (rather than wiping) the rain away...but none of that was what made my brain explode. This, however, did:
On what planet, exactly, is it cool to put alternating strobe lights in your headlights? Is the neon no longer enough to help you find your car? Oh, the humanity!
It got worse. We realized that yes, the back of the rearview mirror was set up as a green-to-blue, back-and-forth strobe. For those of you who are old enough to remember this sort of thing, think about the red lights at the very front of KITT.
I thought our howling and snickering was done, after managing to take a good picture of the rearview-mirror-strobe. For one last shot, I decided to turn my flash on, to see if I got anything noteworthy by using my flash on the interior of the car. It was dark, so prior to taking the flash photo, we had no idea what was inside the car.
We certainly did not expect this:
I started howling, because no one had been looking inside the car when the flash went off. I turned around and showed the photo to friends.
Jeremy's response said it best: "Did a Smurf explode in there?" (Either that, or he said "Did a Smurf barf in there?") Either way, the man has a point.
Remember, friends don't let Smurfs barf in their friends' cars.