Fresh White Reeboks Comin' To Kick Your ***Follow

Imagine this for a moment if you will: You and your family have escaped the freezing cold winter in the Minnesota tundra, to Palm Springs, for a relaxing and quaint vacation in the desert sun. After hours of driving along the barren highways in search of quiet spot for a picnic, you descend upon the perfect place to unwind, not a person or sound for miles, with nothing but the crisp blue sky, the cool refreshing breeze, and the warm desert sand. Complete isolation and solitude.

As your wife begins the pass out sandwiches from the picnic basket, you notice a small object approaching. The silence slowly turns to a murmur as the object gets bigger. Within seconds the murmur becomes a thunderous cacophony of grinding metal, bellowing exhaust and burning rubber gaining closer and closer until finally it appears to be hunting you. Startled, you jump to your feet, grab the kids, and look for a barrier to hide behind.

Before you can make another move the beast slams on the breaks and spins out, sending a wave of sand flying in your face. As you wipe the sand out of your eyes, you notice a man coming from the vehicle. Not a man of normal stature, but with muscles of iron, skin tanned golden brown from the desert sun, and blond hair blowing in the wind. Suddenly you realize this character is wearing nothing but cool black shades, white socks and a pair of brand new, bright white, *** kickin REEBOKS. Not to mention the family jewels, the largest standing erect and proud in all its glory. As you try to cover your children's eyes, you notice it’s already too late, your wife is sweating profusely and smiling as she gazes at the man’s mighty member.

"Yo babe, got a smoke?" says he, seconds before your wife lunges toward him in uncontrollable ecstasy. By now your perfect day in the desert has been shattered to a million pieces. Anger and frustration boils in your mind as you turn bright red with rage.

Suddenly you hear the chaotic sounds churning from his souped up car stereo. "WHAT the hell are you listening to?" you ask this man in pent up frustration, but with a dire need to know who and what was creating this wonderful white knuckle rock-n-roll. "NIGEL PEPPER ****" he replies. "They’re the newest rage. I heard about them while I was brothel hopping in Belgium, they’re huge over there. Some label called NABATE was gonna release it til the band heard they were owned by Virgin records and that they were some pro-WTO organization, whatever the @#%^ that means. I just like the rock. It makes me WILD. I hear the band has ex-members of MEDICATION TIME."

Soon enough you find yourself lost in the music, starting your own mosh pit in the sand and screaming maniacally from the top of your lungs. So engulfed in the moment that you don’t even pay attention to your wife making it with this bandito, or your kids playing with the guns they found in the backseat of his car. Over and over again, you keep pushing rewind and keeping the rock alive and screaming... occasionally snorting some of the strange white powder you found on the dash board of his car. Some hours later you're ready to collapse. Your son has shot your daughter in the foot and your wife is passed out from the overexertion. Yet you and this strange man are still rockin.

Finally as the day ends, you ask this guy, "What’s your name anyway?" "Rick.... the Desert D*ck" he replies, as he drives of into the sunset with your wife, leaving you with only a memory, and a cassette of NIGEL PEPPER ****.

Edited, Jul 12th 2006 at 2:53pm EDT by Reeve

                                     ↓His opinion is ****.↓

DSD take note, this is how you put in a shameless plug.

Picture this:

Camera pans over the typical giant SUV. In the lane next to it is a standard sized car. The light changes. The cars go, and stop at the next light. Superimpose the gas milages of each. Light changes. SUV turns into the gas station and the other car continues on. Name of car and the phrase "All you need."

When do we get to the part about the ***-kicking?