An automotive transmission built for people who don't know how to shift gears, such as old granny ladies, mush wimp
s, effeminate males, soccer mom
s, and yuppie
twits. This transmission has no clutch, and uses a torque converter.
People who don't know how to drive get stooge-o-matic transmissions, and therefore never learn how to drive. They put their brakes on for random cosmic events. They put their brakes on going down hills. You should see all the pantywaist
stooge-o-matic drivers with burnt-out brakes on the roads in the Rocky Mountains!
Chalmers the mush wimp drives a sports car with a stooge-o-matic transmission.
A navigation device of ancient origin. It requires no batteries, but demands a reasonable amount of skill to use. With a compass, you can navigate through rough country to an unseen destination. It is most useful with a topographic map.
Millie used her compass to get to the ski hut.
Yuppies, Soccer Moms, and other sissies don't know how to use a compass. They need a GPS in their car just to get to work.
A Congestion Fee is yet another tax scheme devised by limp-wristed liberals to crush the working poor. The liberals charge a Congestion Fee to drive a car on a designated roadway during certain hours. The liberals say that charging this fee will get people to stop driving and take public transportation. Of course, rich people and dual-income Yuppies don't mind paying the fee, because they have money coming out their arse. But the working poor and single-income families will be crushed by the fees.
Many large cities are considering charging a Congestion Fee to drive on busy streets during rush hours. The limp-wristed liberal mush wimps want to charge these fees to force the working poor to take public transportation. And of course, public transportation in many cities is filled with hip hop idiots playing their ghetto blasters and threatening honest citizens with bodily harm.
Congestion Fees are just like another liberal desire: 5-dollar-a-gallon gasoline. Rich fat cats and dual-income Yuppies don't mind it, but it smashes the working poor.
The mating call of the corn holing faggot.
When one poofter hears another one fart, he responds, either with a fart of his own or verbally.
Rowdy Texas poofters call out "Chow Time!"
High-class poofters say, "Dinner Call!"
Not wanting to waste a lot of time talking, Armistead traipsed into a gay bar, lifted his leg a trifle, and blasted out a tremendous fart. The stentorian trumpet call echoed through the room and drew many approving glances.
Tex hollered "Hot damn! He's brought out the big guns!"
Lemony minced over to Armistead, bent over, and spoke sweet words to his arse:
Hail to thee, blithe Spirit!
Bird thou never wert
That from Heaven, or near it,
Pourest thy full heart
In profuse strains of unpremeditated art.
He inhaled through his nose, loud and long, then continued,
Like a rose embowered
In its own green leaves,
By warm winds deflowered,
Till the scent it gives.
"You'll do fine," said Armistead as he took Lemony's fluttering wrist and escorted him from the bar.