America, What Does Your Garage Look Like?
Let’s face it, America: our garage is a mess right now. We’ve had some good plans for it — a small-scale wax museum called “Mister Tussle’s,” a replica of Supreme LA’s mythical indoor bowl, or a place to organize and store our tools and our Tool memorabilia. These are all fine options. But America’s garage needs something bigger, something bolder. Something our friends will declare completely premium, when next they come visit. Something our girlfriends will tolerate. I have the plans our garage needs.
First things first, we need some money. Garage improvements are not free. Here’s what we do is we clean the junk out of the garage, and we put in new junk, but kitchen junk this time. Refrigerators, sinks. We put in temporary dividing walls. This is a two-car garage, we can each have our part. Then we have a party in our garage, but every room in this party is, as far as you know, a kitchen. We can all find our own room where we lean against a counter and talk about how the other rooms are lame. Now — now, here’s the thing — we make people pay us to visit our KITCHEN PARTY. We fill the fridges up with Hamm’s beer and it’s nine dollars for a wristband and go wild, welcome to the kitchen garage.
We’ll take that seed divided-house money and turn it into real money via the DRUG SYNTHESIS OPERATION we will run out of our garage. Look, I’ve got a lead on bulk D-Lysergic acid and I received a C in Organic Chemistry, which tells me that we can make this dream a hazy, hazy reality. In the event drug-selling proves less lucrative than we might hope, I’ve got plans to start soldering up homebrew guitar pedals, and we could also use it as a warehouse space for my fledgling Dada Supreme-reselling eBay business. Backup-backup plan? I am willing to “start up” a technology in our garage, but I will have my stake in those billions, America.
These proceeds will have a simple and noble purpose. Having made our money, I promise to take our garage, and I promise to soundproof that john real good. I’ve got a lead on a sweet drumkit with your name on it, Tommy.
Then, I will bring in a couch, which will probably be used, but will probably also be sanitary enough. Because that last five percent of sanitary is where you blow your budget, every time, and I will not let us be like those countries who have couches that aren’t shaped like Ls. When I was young, I saw a friend downsize from an L-couch to an I-couch. He was teased so hard his parents had to put him in a different school. I do not want that for our America-garage.
We’re also going to need a teevee big enough to distinguish basketball players by sight alone, and finally, we’re going to need a heavy bag, because we’re keeping it tight, America. You and me we’re gonna Jack LaLanne our way through our golden years. We’re gonna hit that bag and watch those hoops and keep all our friends on our giant couch and TOMMY DID I TELL YOU THAT YOU COULD STOP DRUMMING YOU’RE KILLING THE MOMENT.
-Dave (@leaf_house on Twitter)