On Rims

I absolutely hate rims on cars.  I think they’re total waste.  But my brother loves them.  Is it wrong that I hate rims?  Joanna, San Francisco

Joanna, I used to have no opinion on rims.  Now I can’t stand them because of Rand Goddamn Paul. 

I hate that ginger and everything he stands for.

Your president and I were having drinks in the back of the Applebee’s in Arlington, Virginia last week.  We’re talking about the nuclear weapons treaty with Russia when we hear this “boom boom boom” in the parking lot.  Sounded like some prep school punk had the bass jacked up in Daddy’s Volvo. 

Then Rand Paul walks in.  He’s wearing a ball cap with the Confederate flag on it (classy, right?).  Then he yells, “The doctor is in!  This shit-kicker needs a Bud Light and boneless buffalo wings!” 



This is Rand Paul.  People voted for him.  Unbelievable.



Barack says, “Just look away.”  I leave two twenties on the table, Barack leaves a five (he’s totally cheap; it really angers his wife) and we head out the back. 

Guess who has a giant Ford truck taking up three parking spaces?  That’s right.  Dr. Douche, with his personalized Kentucky license plate that says “RNDRULZ.”   

Hand to God, Joanna, here’s what else was on his truck:

·         Two “No Fat Chicks” window decals (one’s not enough, asshole?)

·         A lift-kit

·         Tons of dried mud

·         One of those asinine rubber scrotum sacks was hanging to his bumper 

·         Giant tires

·         Giant spinning rims

Don’t say anything, but I keyed the crap out of that truck. 

Not a fan of rims?  The line forms here, kiddo.