Iroquois Park’s whips

On my way to pick up my brothers, GoodWill and Josh B. Quick, so we could go to a car show Sunday at Iroquois Park, I was stopped at a red light when this 500-year-old, mangy-ass biker pulled up next to me on a chopper with this horrifically-cornball country song blaring on the radio, the lyrics of which were describing freedom boots being stuffed up commie asses. Luckily for me, and sad for him, I had Lord Tariq and Peter Gunz’ “Deja Vu” on the ready, backed by a sound system four times as powerful as his pitiful little speakers and, with the flip of a switch, I reduced Toby Keith and Mr. Motorcycle man to ash by way of super-sonic bass destruction. As the light turned green, old Greasy Rider didn’t even try to flex… he just putt-putted away, having been defeated on the fury road.

As I pulled the whip into the drive, I could see GoodWill and Josh helping Josh’s neighbor, Fernando, install a massive toolbox to the bed of Fernando’s work truck, which looked quite the Herculean task involving much lifting, pushing, straining and cursing and finally drilling it down in place. Josh’s driveway was awash in tools, as they had spent the morning putting new rims on GoodWill’s Nissan 240sx (that’s a drift car for you dumdums), and I marveled over the work they had been putting into this modern day chariot of the gods.

“I’m gonna paint it a wild-ass purple,” said GoodWill lighting up a cigarette.

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