Hola amigos. What do ya know? Me, I've been laid lower than a centipede's dick lately. You see, for about two weeks now, I've had this cold that I just can't shake. I've tried everything—sleeping, eating soup, drinking Sunny D—but nothing's helped. Hell, I've felt so shitty, I haven't enjoyed a delicious MGD in about four days, and if you know anything about Jim Anchower, then you know things must be pretty serious.

On top of the health problems, my damn car was snowed in for about three weeks after the big storm. I just got it out last week, only with about $300 worth of tickets on it. See, it ain't that I'm a lazy ass, it's just that I'd spend an hour getting it shoveled out, only then it wouldn't start. Then, I'd get all pissed off and go inside, and try again the next day. A few days later, I'd have to shovel it out all over again because I'd get plowed in. I figure that's when I got sick, when I was freezing my nuts off trying to get my car out. Just goes to show you.

I racked my brain trying to figure out why it wouldn't start. It was freezing out, sure, but that never stopped it before. After trying all kinds of stuff, including sticking a hair dryer under the hood for four hours, I finally figured it out: I just needed a new set of spark plugs! One 20-minute quick fix, and I'd be on my way. Only problem was, I also needed a new socket wrench, since I messed mine up trying to turn it into a bowl.

I figured I'd give Ron a call to see if he could loan me his. Problem was, as it turned out, the socket wrench I tried turning into a bowl was actually his. I'd forgotten that I borrowed it. After about five minutes of sweet-talking him, I managed to get Ron to pick me up so we could go to the hardware store and get a new one. Only catch was, I had to promise I'd buy him one, too. That rat!

Anyway, Ron took his sweet time in coming over, and by the time he got to my place, it was dark out. I was plenty steamed, but he said that all stores are open late these days because they had to suit the customer's needs. Fortunately for his ass, the stores were open. First we went to the auto-parts store, where we got my spark plugs. Then we cruised on over to the hardware store to get the socket wrench. All the while, Ron wouldn't shut up and was really pissing me off.

By the time we got to the hardware store, I was about an ass hair away from kicking the crap out of Ron. I didn't plan to hang around the store for too long, so he waited in the car while I went in to find the socket wrenches. I got two of the cheapest ones they had, since, as I said, I had to buy one for Ron, too. I went back to the car and threw the socket wrench at Ron, and we drove back, him yakking the whole time about stupid shit like how he got the high score on Killer Instinct but the power went out so it wasn't up there any more.

By this point, I wanted to just get rid of Ron, but since he was doing me a favor by driving, I didn't want to be rude and tell him to get the hell out of my sight. Anyway, we popped the hood on my car and went to work. I knew I was right on the money about the spark plugs, since they were almost impossible to get out. I spent about 15 minutes giving myself a hernia to get that first spark plug out, it was so corroded.

When I got to the second one, Ron was still jabbering, only now it was about how this old guy who lives next door to him was one of the Little Rascals. I heaved and pushed at the plug, and it was starting to give when the socket wrench stripped out. I was mad as hell, especially at Ron, who was going off about those half-sized Ziploc bags that are made to hold weed. I yelled that he made me wreck my new socket wrench. Then I realized I still needed a socket wrench and that Ron was the one who could help me.

I spent another few minutes saying I was sorry and buttering him up. Then I asked if I could borrow his wrench. He thought about it for a minute (or pretended to think) and then was like, "No way, you'll break this one, too." That was it. I slammed the hood and went inside, leaving Ron to cool his heels and think about what he'd done. After 10 minutes, I peeked out the window, and he was gone.

So, to make a long story short, Ron's on my shit-list in a big way. He must know that, 'cause he ain't been by lately. If you see him, tell him I'm looking for him. Now, I ain't saying I'm gonna kick his ass. We just gotta have a talk. Clear the air, so to speak.

My car still ain't running. The only way I could get it moved was to have Wes "The Bomb" Baumgarten come by and push it. He was a trouper, not like that worthless son of a bitch Ron. On second thought, I am gonna kick Ron's ass. Only don't tell him. It's gotta be a surprise.