What can I say? I have never been a big fan of scary movies, don’t like pranks, and I’m not into jumping out of bushes on Halloween. Scary stuff ain’t my thing, I mean I’m a big pixar fan really, me likie the funny movies with light-hearted messages. I tell you all this not just to hear myself type, but because you need to know that my following description is not something anyone should take lightly. I got the crap scared out of me by a freaking car. That’s right, and it wasn’t cuz the car looked like memories of my childhood obesity coming back, or because it represented the global recession that is now even affecting my love for random trips to CVS. I wasn’t even scared because it was driven by someone from a certain age bracket that for some reason likes getting the gas and brake pedal confused ( which really shouldn’t be confusing, being that they aren’t even the same shape). Oh no, I was driving, nothing was hit, no small puppies were run over, pedestrians were a safe distance away, and my baby fat stayed off. So you might be asking yourself then:: “Trevor what were you scared of?”

Well hypothetical blog reader I’m glad you asked. I was behind the wheel of a brand new Mustang GT500KR, and don’t ask me what all that means. All I know is that it is a four valve 5.4 L V-8 that and 540 horsepower with a short shifter that makes you eyes well up with tears up as people talk of the practicality of a hybrid. It started when I turned the key in the ignition (I’d say close you eyes to imagine, but you’re reading… so just imagine) the three inch pipes coming out of the tail sounded like the were exhausts for a small room where someone was shooting off a 50 cal in rapid 3-5 round bursts. I pressed the gas slightly and gave this clutch just a slight taste and the resulting sound was now beefed up to something similar to rapid anti-aircraft batteries reverberating in a high school basketball court. Anyway enough with my cheesy journalist-like analogies, I then proceeded to emotionally kick the snot out of myself. The next ten minutes were a blur, I know I hit 80 in about 4.5 seconds (Scott told me) and I found out I could scream louder than a pig sucking helium. The only thing I really do remember when stepping on the gas was the faint sound of the supercharger winding up that reminded me of the sound my RC car made when it was making its way to its miniature top speed. It’s weird how your mind takes you to the comfort of childhood as you sprint further from calm. Other than that, I remember ending up back at my parents house sitting on the sidewalk doing controlled breathing techniques to calm my heart rate.

I think I found where I parked my flying car.