How to Books Automotive

Sometimes you need to fix your car, truck, minivan or SUV. Unfortunately, many times when you need to do this repair work, you are flat broke. If you are in this situation you need to be able to fix your vehicle yourself.

Fixing your own auto with no knowledge of how to do so can be incredibly challenging. Fortunately, there are some very helpful repair manuals out there that you can use.

How to books on Automotives, airplanes, golf carts and whatever else you need can be found here.

Another good source of repair manuals is Haynes Repairs Manuals, which can be found on this website.

Car care can be really difficult, so make it easier on yourself with step-by step how-to guide books. How to care for your automobile books are really important for those who are trying to save a buck.

“Poo Goatee”

Yesterday, my purty smile took a hit.

I rode my bike to Rachelle’s house and had a nice dinner of salmon salad and wine. At around 5:30ish, I was riding my bike back home to meet a friend. As I was cruising down 3rd street downtown, my bike chain suddenly locked up and the next thing I knew I was lying on my face in the street. I laid there for a couple of seconds in shock, then started to wiggle body parts one by one. When I discovered that everything was still fully operational I hopped to my feet and surveyed the situation.

I heard a drizzling sound and looked down and realized my chin had been cut open pretty bad was leaking blood all over the street. Some kind gentleman stopped and gave me a first aid kit, which I used to cover up my chin temporarily. I felt something hard in my mouth and poked it out with my tongue and realized that I had lost half of a rear molar when I faceplanted on the asphalt with my chin. I pulled it out and stuck it in my pocket. Interestingly enough nothing really hurt, I was just pissed off. My bicycles frame and handlebars got mangled pretty good too.

I started calling friends to see if there was anyone who could give me a ride home. Rachelle was shopping with her brother and they didn’t think they could fit my bike in their car, Fletch was in Packwood and the few others I called didn’t pick up. So I started to try to hail a cab.

Apparently cabbies are afraid of helping bloody people, because I must’ve had twenty cabs drive by with the drivers shaking their heads before one finally stopped. It’s helpful to be reminded sometimes that you can only rely on yourself lol.

When I got home, I took my first look at my chin in the mirror. I had a little second mouth hanging open. Before my friend arrived a half hour later, I took some pretty pictures. The gash was about an inch deep, but the bleeding had mostly stopped up. All the pictures are from before I went to the ER, except for the last two with the shiny antibiotic shit on my face. The little white thing on the counter is the broken part of my tooth. I had to get a tetanus shot too.
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My very kind friend drove me to the ER and laughed and joked with me the whole way there and kept me giggling the whole time they put in all the stitches. I owe her a huge favor. By far the best time I’ve ever had with doctors around… even the doctor stitching me up kept laughing. Good times.

Damage report: I now have 3 deep-tissue stitches holding the inside of the wound together and 7 stitches on the top. My tooth has a temporary cap on it and I’m going to have to visit my orthodontist ASAP. The doctor said I’m going to have a pretty gnarly scar under my chin.

Some of the best ER jokes:

Me: “Want to make out with my second mouth?

Friend: “I’m glad we can keep you in stitches!”

Me as the doctor sprayed saline solution on the laceration and some got in my face: “It’s like a day at the beach!”

Friend to doc: “Will he still be as pretty as before?” Doc: “No”

Mating Ostriches

I was bored and so I watched a show on Animal Planet about ostriches mating. Male ostriches fluff out their wings and feathers and do weird dances for the females for sometimes days on end to convince the female to mate. When the female is ready, she sits on the ground in a weird way and the male runs over and flops down on her back. I watched it happen a few times, but still didn’t get how the anatomy worked. I couldn’t even see if the ostrich had a dick. Television is a shitty educator.

The whole process reminded me of humans in a pretty funny way. Males have to jump through a bunch of seemingly pointless hoops to spread their seed. Sports, dancing, money, looks, cars, intellectual fervor, muscles, clothing, personality, homes… all aimed at demonstrating what a great mate the male can be.

When two male ostriches hunted a female at the same time, they would hoot at each other and shake their flightless wings to try to frighten away the other. Occasionally, they battle, leaving one ostrich badly maimed. C’mon guys, human men have figured this out. Bros before hos. No need to kill for a few short minutes of fun. But biology’s a bitch. Damned hormones.

Self control

Theory: The primary factor that sets people apart from each other, that determines who the winner is and who the loser is in life, is self control.

The ability to perform an action that you do not want to do or not do something you desire very much, is vital to success.

Can you make yourself work 18 hours a day at something not enjoyable? Say hello to fabulous wealth, Mr. Hedge Fund Manager.

Can you tolerate incredible amounts of physical pain for long periods? Welcome to professional sports.

Can you force yourself to concentrate on minuteia for a lifetime? The Nobel Prize is just around the corner.

Ever thought of killing yourself?

You probably should! Find out here.
Don’t do something stereotypical, like shoot yourself in the head, OD on painkillers or hang yourself. Be creative and really show what a unique individual you are. You finally have your chance to show all those automatons out there that you aren’t just some trench coat wearing freak who can’t get laid or girl with severe emotional problems and a taste for meth, but have something really meaningful to contribute to our sad little world. Here are my top 11 most recommended methodologies:

1. Go to the zoo and go to the lion cage. There will be several beasts eyeing you. Pick out the biggest one and try to kill him with your bare hands. If you walk out of the cage, Sampson, you will have a new appreciation for life. Ballsiness rating: 10

2. Death by boredom. Videotape your bosses giving a motivational lecture, lock yourself in a with a bulletproof window and put a TV on the other side with the video on loop. In less than a day you’ll have rammed your head into the wall enough times to have died of brain hemmoraghing. Ballsiness rating: 3
3. Try to spell hemorrhaging correctly. It’ll cause brain implosion. Ballsiness rating 2

4. Road rage. Wait till “Pacman” Jones (ghetto NFL corner who’s homies shot up a bouncer in Vegas) decides to roll out in his pimped out black Escalade. Drive your little Ford Contour up right behind him and lay on the horn till he pulls over. When he does, get your golf club out of your back seat and start smashing windows. His crew will blow you away. Ballsiness rating: 6

5. Buy a kiddie water pistol, paint it black and wait for the president to come visit a city near yours. Charge said president and wait for the Secret Service to lay some good ol’ fashioned Homeland Security on your ass. Ballsiness rating 7

6. Find a tube of superglue and seal all bodily orifices. Wait for a bit. Explode. Ballsiness rating: 8

7. Want to be the coolest guy ever? Strangle yourself with your own hands. It supposedly is medically impossible, so if you pull it off you’ll be a hero. Fail and you will be too brain damaged to care. Ballsiness rating: 10

8. Get AIDs. Sleep with as many hookers as you can till dead. Ballsiness rating: 9

9. Spaceshuttle disaster. Work your ass for the next ten years, earn a spot on a space shuttle as an astronaut. Remove a heating tile just before liftoff. Wait for thousands of gallons of fuel to incinerate you. Ballsiness rating: 3

10. Get really, really, really high. Who says marijuana doesn’t kill? You show ’em. You’ve been trying your whole life anyways, dumbass. Ballsiness rating: 2

11. Read yet another shitty top 10 list and let the insanity set in and try to tear your brain out with your fingers. Ballsiness rating: 10

If you have anything to add, feel free to do so in the comments!

Who wants a baby with me?

Russia is giving out prizes to women for giving birth on June 12 (their national day). September 12 is the “Day of Conception“. If you want to have my baby and win a Russian refrigerator, please apply in the comments section below.

Math says you are in the Matrix

I read an interesting theory that claims that there is a near mathematical certainty that you are a computer simulation. Many scientists believe that computing power, based on current trends of increases in processing power, in 50 years we will have a computer capable of running simulations of an entire virtual world inhabited by virtual people with fully developed virtual nervous systems. These people would still have thoughts, feelings and everything else that makes us human except that instead of having their mental software run on flesh and blood, it would run on computer circuitry. Once this technology exists, people could run potentially millions of simulations of various virtual worlds, with trillions of inhabitants. The odds of you being one of the few billions of “real” people would be infinitely small. Therefore, we are most likely in a computer simulation at this moment. However, this shouldn’t change the way you live your life. Your feelings and thoughts and the other people around you are just as real to you as they ever were. What does it matter if you were created by God, evolutionary biology or an advanced computer geek with lots of extra time?

Holy Shinolie

The Bush Administration is debating labelling Iran’s Revolutionary Guard Corps a terrorist organization. The war on terror is ridiculous bullshit.. you can’t have war on a tactic. I think our government is finally starting to admit that this war is more about religion than anything else. I thought terrorists were people who use violence and fear to create mayhem and achieve their objectives while disguised as civilians. The Iranian Revolutionary Guards is a major branch of the Iranian military, not at all a small organization that hides and creates fear. By definition, they are no more terrorists than the Green Berets are terrorists. This news coupled with the hard push by certain officials in the Bush Administration to go to war with Iran, as well as our new nuclear first strike policy is beginning to create a very frightening world.

Joel’s loses his writing virginity

I decided to write a story… this is my first draft of my first one, so please be kind. I would appreciate you guys’ thoughts on it. The story is a moment in the life of a character named John. My working title is “John and Pete”. Creative, I know. Anyways here it is:

“Finally done”, I grunted to myself as I slowly walked out to my worn Datsun pickup in the parking lot.

Working nights is a bitch. I “throw stock” at Safeway from 6pm to 3am every day and occasionally have to do overtime and may not get out till noon. Carrying around cases of dairy goods and filling racks is backbreaking work and there are scant benefits, so I take my pleasures where I can and steal the occasional case of white wine (such as the one currently resting under my hairy left arm). My wife also works nights and when she gets home each morning we drink a couple of bottles on our porch and watch the dawn before we make love, then pass out and do it all over again.

My bum right shoulder is aching again, so I slow down my already leisurely pace and look out into the darkness around me. The early morning is quiet except for the hum of the heating systems of the surrounding industrial buildings and the rattling of an occasional truck delivering goods to the surrounding businesses.

As I pass under a flickering street lamp, I can see a man dressed in black slacks and a light blue collared shirt leaning on the tailgate of my truck smoking a cigarette. Occasionally I see bums passed out around the area, but this man doesn’t appear to be a bum. Curious, I say, “Um… Can I help you?”

When he glances up I realize I recognize his face, but can’t quite place it at first. Slowly, I begin to remember.

Growing up, I attended the same same elementary school from preschool all the way through sixth grade with the same tight-knit group of friends. In the 3rd grade, a youngster named Pete came to our school. Not used to making new friends and adverse to change, I immediately disliked him. He was about my height and a little hefty around the middle with brown hair and a boatload of freckles. Unfortunately for him, he was a rather ugly boy; fat and slow, and had a distinctly unpleasant odor due to living on a dairy farm just outside of our rural town. Over the next three years, till he left to go to another junior high, my friends and I detested him and made his life miserable. As I got older I realized I had been a bully, but at the time it felt like I was fighting for righteousness and justice and against evil. Pete endured it all; constant taunting, thrown sticks, kicks and punches, and thorough humiliation when he tried to join our games.

Now here Pete was, older and bigger, but same freckles and shock of brown hair. He looked like a staff accountant; he had narrow shoulders with a little pot belly that hung over his belted slacks and then tapered down to his narrow calves.

Pete stared out of his glasses at me with a look of mildly aloof disgust.

“Pete… it’s been years. How are you?” I asked. I felt a little guilty about my past mistreatment of him and so tried to be extra polite. Plus, I was a little nervous to find him standing by my truck at this ungodly hour with no one around.

He didn’t respond and we just looked at each other for several long and, at least for me, uncomfortable moments. Pete reached his hand behind his back and into his slacks and brought out a short, black pistol and pointed it at my chest. My whole body froze and my heart dropped to my toes. I couldn’t move. We looked long into each others eyes, like lovers, both understanding what the moment entailed and why it was here.

I stood there in the middle of that big parking lot in the middle of an industrial district fiercely hoping that I wouldn’t die under in this godforsaken human wasteland in the harsh light of the street lamp.

Pete stood in front of me, externally calm, but his eyes were wide and a vein pulsed in his forehead. I felt a burning desire be at home, drinking my wine, with this living nightmare a hazy memory.

After what felt like an eternity of this standoff, but was probably only a few seconds, Pete pulled his arm back and put the pistol to the side of his head and pulled the trigger. Blood, bone and brains rained in a black mist to the side and his body slumped to the pavement uncomfortably.

I looked around and then back down at his body, completely in shock. The whole world felt oddly distant. My manager ran outside and looked at the situation. His first statement was, “YOU’RE the one who has been stealing the wine. You’re fired.” and then followed with his final order to me “Call 911”. I simply looked through him until he went back inside the store.

After the ambulance came and retrieved the body and the police questioned me for several hours, I was finally allowed to take my Datsun home. My wife and I got extremely drunk that evening.