You know what would be really scary?
If you owned a big black Cadillac with black-tinted windows, and you walked up to it in the middle of the night and opened your driver’s-side door, and suddenly the pitch-black interior of the car lit up to reveal Thomas Jefferson sitting behind the wheel, like hard as fuck, holding a 9mm and not even turning to glance at you, because it’s like, “Oh, shit, he’s America’s third president,” and you’re already dead.
I’m going to name my son JD Power.
Then when he gets some friends, I will refer to all of them as JD Power and Associates, and I’ll get him one of those Mattel cars that have a battery motor and a plastic body, and I’ll make him drive around our front yard in circles and tell me how it really “hugs the garage.” Also, his mother will be dead.
