I was back in my old neighborhood in Hollywood. One of my neighbors was do_not_lick and he was going to sell me his car. He kept disappearing, though, and people in the street told me he was too busy concocting an elaborate revenge on his landlord involving apartment destruction, and wouldn’t likely be around to get me the car. I was worried that I’d never get it.
Finally it turned out that the car was across town and I’d have to take the damn bus to it. I was kind of mad. Meanwhile a woman on the street kept accosting me and asking me to try her new Crab and Garlic Pretzels, which were in a # shape and very special. I kept telling her “I can’t taste the crab. It’s all garlic.”
The car I was trying to buy was almost identical to jonpants‘ Firebird, except a bit older.
Be My Blog 
Next time dream about a Corvette.
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I can’t taste the crab. It’s all garlic.
It’s a rude awakening, a call to arms. A new rallying cry for our disenfranchised generation, a generation that until now has had nothing to believe in but its own ennui.
Wake up, man! It’s all garlic! IT’S ALL GARLIC!
At the very least, this phrase should go on the back of stimps’ t-shirts, the ones that say “Will you still carry my book?” on the front.
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