2009 Hyundai Elantra Touring: Crap on Wheels

Earlier this week I had to take my Hyundai in for transmission service. Apparently transmissions only last 108,000 miles when they are screwed together by 8 year old Korean children.

Since my car was going to be in the shop for a few days, the Hyundai dealership gave me a loaner car to drive. Normally dealerships will give you the red-headed stepchild of their brand’s lineup…well let me tell you about the red-headed stepchild of Hyundai’s lineup:

The 2009 Hyundai Elantra Touring.

“Touring” is poorly translated Korean for “station wagon”

Let’s start with the exterior. If you gave an epileptic child some crayons, blindfolded them, spun them around a dozen times, and asked them to draw a car it would still look better than this thing. It looks like the designer just took a refrigerator box and went apeshit on it with a samurai sword. You could pull up to a stoplight next to a mid-80’s windowless van, and children would voluntarily get into the pedophile van just to avoid being seen in this. Maybe Hyundai should make the rear brake lights a little bigger so astronauts in outer space can tell when you’re stopping. (I could go on but I’m already too angry, so just picture me swearing and foaming at the mouth in front of my keyboard.)

Now that we’ve toured the outside of this gem, hop in to the driver’s seat. The first thing you will notice is the acrid stench of whatever the hell it is that Hyundai makes interiors out of. For some reason the unique blend of plastic and failure calls to mind a semi trailer full of Hello Kitty dolls that is on fire, driving through your septum and into your subconscious. Other people’s farts smell better.

Settle into the luxurious driver’s seat, which may or may not have been inspired by a medieval torture chair. I would rather stuff my asshole full of M-80’s and squat over a hibachi grill than spend five more minutes sitting in this chair. Oh, you were hoping to get your 6’3” frame comfortable? Well the seat slides back plenty far enough…but the tilt steering wheel only comes up to your nuts. It’s like the Chinese water torture of automotive ergonomics – absolutely maddening, but in a very subtle way.

Turn the key (you have to fucking find the ignition by molesting the underside of the low-slung steering wheel since you can’t actually see it) and let the reassuring sound of a giraffe screaming in pain wash over you. It is a jarring experience to turn over a brand new car and actually wonder if it’s going to die before you can back out of the parking space. Speaking of backing out of a parking space, good luck using the mirrors on this car because both blind spots are like 18 feet wide. I have to assume that the designer who included side mirrors was being sarcastic because the only thing they might actually be good for is clipping bicycle delivery people in big cities.

Turning the steering wheel requires a surprising amount of muscle considering the small wheelbase. I’m going to assume that Hyundai just forgot to install the power steering pump. Or maybe it just died of shame when I started the engine.

Take any corner faster than 5 MPH and you will wonder if the back end is about to break loose. Instead of shock absorbers the Touring model comes equipped with shock magnifiers, which actually makes driving over smooth gravel feel like you are tackling the nastiest Jeep trail. It is advisable to hold your teeth in your head with an open palm covering your mouth before driving over rough road.

The engine and four speed automatic transmission work together about as well as Israel and Palestine. Try to pass someone on the highway and the following things will happen:

1. Loud, meaningless squealing from the engine.
2. A good “five Mississippi” count later, an audible clunk as the transmission downshifts. Remember that we’re talking about a BRAND NEW car.
3. Uneven and unpredictable acceleration, similar to riding in one of those toddler sized coin-operated cars out in front of K Mart.
4. Steering that manages to feel just as clumsy at 70 mph as it does in a parking lot.
5. Shame as you avoid eye contact with the driver of the car you are passing, who is almost certainly doubled over in peals of laughter anyway.

I can’t even imagine how much Hyundai had to bribe the NHTSA with to get this car to pass a crash test. You could dent the quarter panels on this car with a good stiff burst of ass wind. I haven’t tried the horn yet but I can only assume that it plays “Taps” because if you hit anything you are fucking toast. Or maybe it just releases a cloud of chloroform gas so you won’t feel anything when the steering wheel deposits your nuts in the back seat. I bet the airbags wait to go off until the coroner is trying to scrape what’s left of you out of the car.

The best thing Hyundai could possibly do for their brand reputation is slap a Toyota badge on the 2009 Elantra Touring before putting it out on the lot. After driving this colossal failure for a few days, I have a fresh appreciation for the mere mediocrity of my old Hyundai. Which was maybe their plan all along…to sucker me into paying for expensive transmission repairs?

Bravo, you clever bastards. You win this round.

Navy SEALs are Fucking Awesome

Problem: Somali pirates board the US-flagged cargo ship Maersk Alabama and take the captain hostage.

Solution: The US sends a team of Navy SEAL snipers in by parachute (in case of a water landing, their giant testicles can be used as flotation devices) who set up shop and wait for a clear shot. When the pirates finally slip up and give the SEALs their opening…I think MSNBC summed up what happened next pretty well:

In an interview with NBC’s TODAY show, Gortney said it took only three shots to kill the three pirates.

http://www.msnbc.msn.com/id/30178013/

As soon as that sentence escaped Gortney’s lips it was immediately engraved in stone and mailed to the Awesomest Sentences Ever Spoken Hall of Fame in Canton, Ohio.

Predictably enough, the pirates are now threatening revenge:

“In the future, America will be the one mourning and crying,” Abdullahi Lami, one of the pirates holding a Greek ship anchored in the Somali town of Gaan, told The Associated Press on Monday. “We will retaliate (for) the killings of our men.”

That seems like an excellent plan, Abdullahi. Why wouldn’t you pick a fight with snipers who could shoot the tip off your dick from 1,000 yards away on choppy seas? Unless these pirates evolve the ability to remove their heads and hide them in bulletproof suitcases, I predict this will end with a lot more well ventilated pirates.

The section below is an excerpt from the Navy SEAL creed*. As you’re reading it, try to imagine that you’ve just vowed revenge against the organization that operates under this creed.

My nation expects me to be physically harder and mentally stronger than my enemies. If knocked down, I will get back up, every time. I will draw on every remaining ounce of strength to protect my teammates and to accomplish our mission. I am never out of the fight.

Pick a fight with the United States of Awesome? No problem, we’ll just toss about a dozen of these unstoppable killing machines over the fence into your backyard. Good luck, Abdullahi!

You’re gonna fucking need it.

* Excerpt courtesy of Bob Greene, CNN.com
http://www.cnn.com/2009/US/04/13/greene.seals/index.html

Pop the Paparazzi

The other night I was flipping channels while waiting for Robot Chicken to start, and without warning I stumbled into the decay of Western society: TMZ TV.

Accidentally flipping in to TMZ TV is like walking into a room five seconds behind someone who has just unleashed a legendary fart. The kind of fart where it not only makes your eyes water, it actually triggers your gag reflex. The kind of fart that stays in your mental encyclopedia of smells forever, right in between “dead mouse” and “sulfur mine”. It’s like that, only instead of just your nose it’s all over your brain.

The premise of this show is that it’s a “behind the scenes” look at how a bunch of people who write for a celebrity watching website do their job. They also employ camera men who chase celebrities all over the place taking pictures of them arguing with their maid or wiping coke residue off their upper lip, etc.

It doesn’t matter if you hate any of these celebrities or not – you will instantly hate everyone involved with TMZ a lot more. These jaded acne-scarred MTV-jects, these slithering douche bags, who only have jobs to begin with because of celebrities, spend all their time sitting around sniping and crotching about famous people. 14 seconds of this show will expose you to more asshole than 30 years of being a proctologist. Wave after wave of asshole washes over you as you watch, like the heat blast that comes from an oven set to 450 degrees when you open the door.

But wait, that’s just the office people. Wait until you get a retina full of the photographers. How would you react if some unshaven Eurotrash yelled something insulting at you and then shoved a camera in your face and blinded you repeatedly with a flash while he stands in front of your car so you can’t drive without running over his foot?

And that’s when it occurred to me: Why not do that very thing back to these guys, and make your own TV show about it?

Here’s the pitch for “Pop the Paparazzi”: Hire 30 photographers to follow one paparazzi guy around for a week, 24 hours a day. If that guy double parks I want cameras shoved in his face and insults about his driving ability lobbed until throats are sore. Get in his way, shove people around, blind him with the flash, stand in front of his car, etc. If he snaps and starts swinging, well that’s just gold baby.

The best part is, in addition to being annoyed out of his mind he wouldn’t even be able to do his job because there would be this clusterfuck mobbing him while he’s trying to mob someone else! Multiple layers of paparazzi clusterfuckery; such a beautiful thought it nearly brings a tear to my eye.

I bet we could talk Ashton Kutcher into financing this…anyone have his number?

Ask Dr. Friction

Q: What should I do when I’m pushing my cart down the aisle in a grocery store and someone has left her cart blocking my way?

Response from RealSimple.com (link here):

It depends on what’s in the cart. If it’s just groceries, feel free to move it over so you can roll by. If the wandering shopper returns to catch you red-handed, “say, ‘Excuse me―I had to get by,’ with a smile,” says Purdy. If the shopper has left her purse or baby in the cart, however, a hands-off policy should apply. Generally, “you can go around to another aisle―it won’t add more than 30 seconds to your trip,” Purdy says.

Response from Dr. Friction:

It depends on what’s in the cart. If it’s just groceries, feel free to shove it way the hell off to the side while loudly exclaiming “What selfish asshole left their cart right in the middle of the fucking aisle?” If possible, knock a bunch of crap off the shelf with the other person’s cart that they will have to pick up.

If the shopper has left her purse in the cart, take the purse and empty its contents into a cereal box. Then take all the cereal and dump it in the purse. Be sure to do this from the bottom of the box so the seal doesn’t appear to have been broken. Congratulations, you’ve just made somebody’s day! Some random person is going to open their box of Cap’n Crunch and instead find fabulous cash and prizes!

If the shopper has left her baby in the cart, smack that kid in the face with a loaf of frozen garlic bread. Nothing gets mommy’s attention like a child screaming in pain! When she returns to the cart, hand her the loaf of garlic bread with the face-shaped dent in it and say something along the lines of “I think your ugly child must have dropped this. I saw it fall off his/her face and out of your cart.” While not strictly necessary, it is also acceptable to cut a huge wet fart before walking away.

The important lesson here is: Don’t tolerate other people’s bullshit just because some delicate little flower behind a keyboard says it’s the “polite” thing to do. Which person is going to remember to park their cart off to the side next time – the one who successfully forced those polite people to walk around to the next aisle, or the one who tried to pay for groceries with Cap’n Crunch bricks she found in her purse where her wallet used to be?

~Dr. F

Run for the Border

For those who haven’t been to Taco Bell recently…well, congratulations because you will probably live about 10 years longer than the rest of us.

Anyway, Taco Bell prints these clever little sayings on their sauce packets. Some are witty, some are random, some are even hilarious double entendres if you have a dirty enough mind (ie – “Save a bun. Eat a taco”). These amusing sauce packets gave me something to toss about idly in my mind as I was driving back to my office from lunch.

My vacant musings soon turned to abject horror, however, when the demon spawn of my Taco Bell lunch began clawing its way through my lower intestine at frightening speeds. Panic stricken, I managed to steer my chariot into a McDonald’s and proceeded to unleash a rectal holocaust on their McPlumbing. The first wave of this shit was actually the size and shape of a church bell, and it made the Taco Bell “BWONG” sound on its way out. The following waves sounded like someone dumping pea gravel into a fish tank. My ass screeched like worn brake pads the entire time. When I was done I had to wipe with ice because the toilet paper kept bursting into flames. (I think you get the picture)

To honor this scarring incident I’ve decided that Taco Bell needs some more truth in advertising in their sauce packet slogans.

Here are a few suggestions:

• Don’t make any fucking plans for the next 2 hours.
• Enjoy your food. You won’t have it for long.
• Are you wearing a diaper? Maybe you should be.
• Ever wondered how the opening of a volcano feels?
• You must really hate yourself.
• Caution: explosive diarrhea can cause dehydration!
• Ever see any Mexicans eating here? Ever wonder why not?
• Whatever happens, DO NOT fucking sneeze.

Thanks Taco Bell! And don’t worry, I’m sure those last five feet of my lower intestine will grow back eventually.

At least the 2009 Cubs won’t be boring

The Chicago Cubs have signed Milton Bradley to a three year, $30 million contract.

http://www.chicagotribune.com/sports/baseball/cubs/chi-06-cubs-bradley-chicagojan06,0,179702.story

This was not an important signing because of Bradley’s talent. He is 30 years old, injury prone, clearly hit a lot better at home last year than on the road, etc.

This was an important signing for a less tangible reason: Milton Bradley is completely batshit insane. We’re talking about Brad Pitt in “12 Monkeys” crazy here.

Win or lose, at least the 2009 Chicago Cubs will not go quietly into that gentle night because Milton Bradley does not go anywhere quietly or gently. Signing a player like Milton Bradley to play for Lou Piniella’s Chicago Cubs is like filling your fire extinguishers with kerosene. There is NO WAY the Cubs escape the 2009 season without someone getting shot, stabbed, or severely beaten in their clubhouse.

Here is my estimated timeline of Milton Bradley incidents in the 2009 season:

• March 2: After an early spring training game Bradley discovers a parking ticket on his car, spends the next 15 days sobbing uncontrollably in the fetal position.
• April 11: The Great Gazoo whispers in Bradley’s ear that he needs to sucker punch the Brewers’ bat boy. Hilarity ensues.
• May 12: Bradley runs out to right field with no pants on, “KISS MY A$$ KEVIN TOWERS” painted across his butt cheeks.
• June 17: In the Windy City Classic, Bradley hits a gapper and runs the bases shooting at White Sox infielders with a handgun like the running back in “The Last Boy Scout”.
• July 14: Bradley crashes the All Star game in Fan Man’s parachute, shits on Ichiro through the fan.
• Aug 28: Bradley and Elijah Dukes re-enact the Jets-Sharks knife fight from “West Side Story” completely by accident while actually trying to knife each other to death.
• Sept 19: Bradley blows out his ACL delivering an atomic leg drop to a nun wearing a St Louis Cardinals hat.

Buckle up motherfuckers, the MB era is gonna be a wild ride!

Gas pump screamers

I would like to take a moment to acknowledge the most annoying and intrusive evolution in advertising since the Internet pop-up ad: gas pump screamers.

You’ve probably been assaulted by one of these things by now. You pull up to the pump, set everything up, and as soon as the gas starts pumping a small electronic box mounted to the side of the pump starts shouting at you about cheap hot dogs or cigarettes or something.

HEY ARE YOU HUNGRY? UNDERCOOKED HOT DOGS ARE ON SALE INSIDE, GET ONE WITH A WATERED DOWN DIET COKE FOR 15 CENTS OFF! YEAH I SAID DIET COKE, FRANKLY YOU LOOK A LITTLE FAT TO ME. BUY SOME FUCKING SMOKES WHILE YOU’RE IN THERE TOO. YOU COULD SHOVE THE WHOLE PACK DIRECTLY UP YOUR ASS AND THEY STILL WOULDN’T BE ANY WORSE FOR YOU THAN THE HOT DOG.

These gas pump screamers commit the following transgressions against decency:

1. Nobody likes being shouted at by anything, let alone a commercial for gas station food. I would rather let Rosie O’Donnell paint a picture of her last yeast infection on my chest using mayonnaise than hear about your fucking sale on pork rinds when I’m freezing my sack off trying to fuel up my crappy Korean SUV.
2. If you’re not expecting a sudden loud noise 8″ from your ear while you’re standing on a sheet of ice…enjoy your rapid descent to the pavement, and be sure to thank the gas station manager by breaking his nose with the brand new cast on your shattered wrist. Bonus points if you are overweight, because now you are three months closer to that heart attack you’ve been working towards.
3. For some reason they are insanely hard to shut off. It always takes at least five seconds to figure out which button shuts the thing off, because instead of labeling it “OFF” they usually have like the Egyptian hieroglyph for deafness on there. So you have to stand there mashing all the buttons and muttering to yourself like “Why won’t this God damn thing shut off?!? I already pressed the Fish Eye button AND the Sun/Moon button! Damn it!”
4. Even if you accidentally manage to decode which button is the “OFF” button you have to press the thing hard enough to crack the plastic shell to shut it off.
5. There is no way to avoid these things, because you HAVE to walk past them to pump your gas. Even if you move like a ninja and shut the thing off in two seconds, you still have to go through the extra effort to avoid being screamed at by a robot.
6. There is nobody you can yell at, because gas station clerks have already given up on life and don’t really give a flat French fuck if you were inconvenienced or upset by something.

The only way anyone could possibly justify these things is if the advertising revenue was offsetting the cost of my gas…you know what, I’m not even going to waste my time finishing that thought. It would never happen.

Fuck you, inventor of the gas pump screamer. I hope your wife is screwing your neighbor, your priest is screwing your son, and your dog is screwing your cat. I hope somebody sneaks up behind you and shouts about frozen pizzas being on sale, and you fall and break your hip. Dickhead.

The agony of Ken Dorsey

As I was watching the Browns get crushed last night on Monday Night Football, all I could think was “I honestly cannot believe Ken Dorsey is in the NFL. He might be the worst pro quarterback in 30 years.”

Consider the following:

* Arm strength – Dorsey makes Chad Pennington look like a turbocharged Howitzer. The punter for the Chicago Bears throws a harder, tighter spiral than Ken Dorsey. Everything he throws looks like it was launched from a medieval catapult.
* Accuracy – It’s a good thing Dorsey can’t throw hard, because if he could he might hurt somebody. On one play last night Dorsey overthrew a screen pass by FIVE YARDS. How do you miss someone standing TWO YARDS AWAY by five yards?!? T-shirt cannons can be fired with better accuracy.
* Decision making – Even if he makes the right decision, by the time his zeppelin-like throws finally arrive at their destination the receiver will be triple covered. At one point last night Andy Reid was able to run onto the field and break up a pass, and his blood type is Crisco.
* Nerves – Here is the sequence of events on Dorsey’s 2nd interception last night:

1. Eagles linebacker blitzes
2. Dorsey sharts so hard his socks get wet
3. Dorsey sends a puke stained, wobbling duck about 8 yards even though the nearest receiver is at least 12 yards away
4. Other Eagles LB actually looks stunned as he is making the INT, like “why the hell did he throw this to me, there’s nobody else near me?”
5. Romeo Crennel stares blankly onto field, thinks about ham as ESPN crew makes excuses for Dorsey’s incredibly sad effort at throwing

* Mobility – Can best be described as “Bernie Kosar-esque”. Enough said.
* Intimidation factor – At one point during last night’s game I swear the Eagles defensive players were on the sideline re-enacting Dorsey panicking & laughing their asses off about it.

Is the Browns’ season over yet?

Jared from Subway

Having a bad day?

Car won’t start?

Snow to shovel?

Kids a hassle?

Bills to pay?

Let’s focus our energy on the real reason that your life sucks sometimes: Jared from Subway.

Whatever is wrong in your life, I fucking guarantee you that Jared from Subway is somehow responsible. We’re talking about a man who ate until he looked like the blueberry girl from Willy Wonka, and then decided that the best way to lose weight would be to EAT A LOT OF FAST FOOD.

And he is getting rewarded for it – what an incredible asshole. Oh look at me, I used to be fat but now I’m just ugly, buy this $6 turkey sandwich that you could make for yourself for $3 if you just went to the fucking grocery store. Look at my giant balloon pants, aren’t you impressed that I lost 9000 lbs almost completely by accident and now I make a living off the fact that I used to eat a tub of “I Can’t Believe it Resembles Butter” for breakfast.

CHOKE ON THAT $5 FOOTLONG YOU SMUG BASTARD!!

Peter King has lost his crown

From Peter King’s Dec 7, 2008 MMQB column:

“Ray Lewis, LB, Baltimore. When will he slow down? 2014? The more I watch the Ravens, the more I marvel at his staying power — and not just the staying power to hang around. He’s excelling the same way he was in the Ravens’ Super Bowl year, and he’s leading the same way too — at 33, in his 13th season.”

Hmm, that is a mystery. I wonder if there is anything that a linebacker who looks washed up at age 31 can do to enhance his performance and become a beast again by age 33. If only there were some magical substance that could be injected, taken orally, or rubbed into the skin as a cream that would help with that.

Considering the morality that Lewis has shown in the past (Google “Jacinth Baker” or “Richard Loller” for details) it wouldn’t surprise me to learn that the secret to his longevity involves feeding kittens through a wood chipper while doing his sack dance and laughing maniacally, then soaking in their liquid remains in a sensory deprivation tank for 12 hours.

On the other hand, steroids are easier to get than a Sam’s Club size box of kittens. So it’s probably steroids.

Is Peter King really this naive? Or has he compromised his journalistic integrity for continued insider access to the world of an NFL athlete?

The answer, of course, is “yes”.