Delusions of Grandeur
In the United Arab Emirates, it’s all about the license plate lotto. Specifically, the lower your plate number, the higher your social standing. Make and model of vehicle are irrelevant: Pintos and Trackers are Lamborghini’s equals.
Recently, an individual put his license plate number up for auction to the highest bidder. The transaction earned the auctioneer over $14 million.
The purchased number: 2.
When I was driving behind Mark Warner to the gas station today, I took note of his license plate: also 2. I wonder if he’s aware that in the UAE, he would have lines of people waiting for his autograph, blessing or slightest nod in their direction.
Now that I think of it, perhaps Mark did know. He took off rather suddenly without pumping a dime of gas. It could have been due to the loud music in a nearby car, which clearly suggested the presence of nefarious hoods. One can never be too careful.
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The story of the UAE auction was related to me by my Bangladeshi landlord. He lived in the UAE and keeps up on their current events. One of his favorite stories of the Middle East in general takes place when he was living in Libya. Apparently, he came upon a location at the edge of the desert that caters to the rich and famous. For a flat fee, sultans, emirs, and bosses of all kinds can destroy as many brand-new Jeep Wranglers as they want in the sand dunes. Hundreds of Jeeps dot the landscape, fully drivable if not for the several thousand tons of sand locking them in place.
Replace the Jeeps with go-carts and this reminds me of a perfect playland for the Michael Jackson of the immediately post-child molestation trial era. I read a rather tragic article about him the other day-too much moonwalking has given him premature arthritis, or so he claims, causing him to travel mostly by wheelchair. His comments have the air of a defeated soul. I alternately wanted to crank “PYT” and write Michael a fan letter. Maybe he would keep it in a shoebox under his bed and look at it when he felt down. After all, I have to provide as much support as I can to dark folks who appear lighter than I am.
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Anyway, back to my landlord. I gave him a bunch of Bic lighters today along with my rent check. See, I bought the lighters because Target no longer sells matches, and I have candles that need lighting. My only other option was to buy a giant grill lighter but as I have a poor history of flame-retardation I figured this wasn’t prudent. How hard can it be to flick a Bic? Everyone makes it look so easy:
Ease of Use of Bic Lighter, 98% of the Population Reporting.
Note: Responses are organized from hardest action to easiest action
-Stopping eating Hershey’s Kisses with Almonds just short of making yourself sick (Requires self-control)
-Counting number of licks to center of Tootsie Roll Pop (Requires patience. Sometimes the dog will help. His licks count double.)
-Opening bag of Fritos while lying upside down on the La-Z-Boy recliner without dumping them all over yourself (Requires motor skills.)
-Scratching itchy place between love handle and top of jeans (Requires fingernails)
-Flicking Bic lighter
Ease of Use of Bic Lighter, Michelle Reporting:
(Again, responses recorded from hardest to easiest)
-Constructing a replica of the Taj Mahal out of Kinex while being trampled by a hoard of wild elephants (Indescribably difficult to the point of being absurd)
-Using a Bic lighter (I never even made a spark, even after reading the instructions, looking for help online, and having my landlord demonstrate)
-Whistling (totally impossible)
-Snapping (occasional success possible)
-Eating 3 large bags of Pirate Booty in one day (difficult, but possible)
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Needless to say, my landlord thinks that his renter is hapless, hopeless and oh-so-funny to laugh at.
I hope he likes his new lighters, especially the pink one.
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