Household Male Lubricants

Country for Old Maids

It's hot.

So hot that it is unthinkable to take the car to go to work, unless you want to experience the premature cremation alive. The interior of my black Opel manages to reach the optimum temperature to cook the cannelloni, and at those levels, just turn the light on the dashboard to make them even grill.

After the impact with the hot flashes that greet you by opening the door and the internal micro-climate more typical of the Gobi desert that a 'car, then we must resist burns from touching any object in the cockpit . Burn it all: the steering wheel, the knob of the car, the gear shift: in order not to touch them, I once did 20 miles at first listening to Radio Maria.

changing gear is in danger of being branded as a calf, Texas, with the remaining gear schemino imprinted on the palm of your hand. Which can also be original, but given the choice would prefer a tribal on calf.

So when I absolutely need to take your car, arrival in possession and driving with pot holders.

Yesterday, to avoid all these mistakes, not to arrive at work sweaty and have a sudden craving ecologist who hit me in direct proportion to the price of diesel, I decided to go to work on foot.

So I was walking quietly, whistling a little song I heard played in the World Cup by a vuvuzela, when at one point I had the need to cross the street.

are diligently arrived at pedestrian crossings and, with a typical maneuver of the perfect pawn, I have driven in the direction of the zebras. They are, however, remained still waiting because I saw it was coming a column snakes cars at speeds quite excessive. Probably means they were all stoned in their mini-torrid deserts of the Gobi. There was also some with the Saharan people carrier. I said, wait until it passes or I stretch.

Instead, the first truck in line, ligissimo road traffic, decided let me go and stopped bad. As I crossed, however, I began to hear brake noise, various strokes, chirps, a "bum" and a few crashes. Motorists behind, a little 'because they went fast, a little' because they were taking a distance of not safety of 10 cm, a little 'because the heat had slowed their reflexes AIS, they pile-up in a roar sheet metal, glass and plastic pieces.

while I continued to walk behind me going to hell.

At least, that would make Bruce Willis. The difference is that he never turns around to see if anyone was hurt. Well, then another difference is that I usually do not go around with a half bloody undershirt and a shotgun.

recorded property damage only, I continued my walk whistling mononota my little song.