What's In a Name? Not Exploding.

"Hold on just one gosh darn minute", some of the whinier among you are probably saying. "This blog does not appear in any way to be the eagerly anticipated second part of 'You Can Read it, But You're Not Going to Like It'". That is correct. My thoughts are of a transitory and mercurial nature, and at the moment they have strayed from that topic onto other things. You probably feel cheated, but if you had read the fine print* you'd know that "To Be Continued" should not construed as a guarantee, or, quite frankly, even as an indication that there will actually be any continuance.

*Technically speaking, I haven't actually written the fine print yet, but if you travel forward a few months, it should be available for your viewing. Those of you not currently utilizing time travel should know that your inability to effectively manipulate the space-time continuum is a personal problem, and thus is not my responsibility at all.

Moving on, what I'd like to discuss today is the fact that on the way home from work last night I was held up in traffic for a good while because a Volkswagen Beetle had apparently burst into flames. Now, there are many possible explanations for this occurrence. Perhaps there was a massive engine malfunction, or maybe the driver was smoking a cigarette while simultaneously filling vials with volatile chemicals. But I suspect neither of these is accurate. Occam's Razor, in addition to handily disposing of unwanted stubble, tells us that the simplest explanation is usually the correct one. Which is why I'm convinced that the Beetle caught fire because a giant nine year old space creature lit it up with some sort of sophisticated space magnifying glass. Why? Because that is what young boys do to beetles.

And who is at fault? Volkswagen, of course. One cannot blame the alien. Boys will be boys, after all, even if they are green, tentacled space boys the size of France. But why in the world would the people at VW name their car after bug? How did they not anticipate these horrifying consequences? And why are we purchasing such absurdly named products? One might as well drive around in a Chevy Bulls-Eye, or a Toyota Unescorted Group of Isreali Diplomats Wandering Through The Gaza Strip. Honestly, the Beetle? They were asking for it. And frankly, the Beatles, despite their truly exceptional musical abilities, put themselves in pretty much the same boat. I have long believed that Mark David Chapman was not, in fact, an assassin, but an overzealous exterminator with poor eyesight.

The point is that we should all write angry letters to Volkswagen demanding that they create a vehicle called the VW Move Along, Nothing To See Here. It's the only way to guarantee the safety of ourselves and our children.