And the winner is...

The American People. That's right everyone, I've officially become political. I'll get to that in a moment, but I wanted to make it clear that the car's name is officially Icarus. Again, I blame Robert Plant and Jimmy Page. But also the movie Sunshine. Take a minute of your time and watch the trailer at the very least.

Now, on to business. I've made some drastic changes to my life lately. These have required a lot of time, thought, and effort. I put in my two week's notice at work. I've talked to my friends and family. And I've decided that this is what I want.

I'm now on as a volunteer on the Hilary Clinton campaign. That won't come as a surprise to my closest friends. It's long been established that I'm a campaigner for women's rights. In many ways it was I that started the neo-feminist movement when I was just a lad. I remember fondly the day I struck the "No" from the sign indicating whether or not girls were allowed in my treehouse.

These ideals stuck with me, and now I have no choice but support the best candidate: Hilary. Despite what the sexist liberal media would tell you, she's a lawyer, a states... err... person, an astronaut, an interior designer, a paleontologist, and a stewardess. Actually... I might be thinking of Barbie. But in my eyes, they're indistinguishable anyway.

So I'll keep you posted from the campaign trail. She's currently got an unstoppable momentum, and her lead in the states that really matter is broad. Just like her. I'll leave you with a video the campaign's put together.

Thank you and may you be blessed by one or more God(s) or less.

- Scott

Everything except Road Head

Meet the new car, not the same as the old car:

Pre-Modded-Prius.

Thar she be. The new car, a 2008 Magnetic Grey Toyota Prius. The car itself is no less than fucking awesome. But before I get into all of that, I feel I must defend the choice. I shouldn't have to, but there are people who have an aversion to the car, if not an outright hate, and it's them I address now: read my below post, and piss off.

Now, on to the meat. The car is beautiful from a technical standpoint. I even like its vaguely teardrop shape. But technologically, it's a knockout. Here's a rundown of a few features I went crazy for long before I bought it:

• Joystick shifter.
  
• Hackable.
• Car senses my presence, unlocks when I grab handle.
• Key never has to leave my pocket, even to start the car.
  
• Backup camera.
  
• Touch-screen controls.
• iPod port to interface with the sound system.
• BlueTooth to interface with my phone.
  
• Four doors (screw folding a seat down for passengers.)
• Conversion kits to allow you to plug your Prius into your house to provide power. (Essentially making it a gigantic drivable emergency generator.)
  
• Room enough for 3-5 dead hookers in cargo area.
  

And the best reason; what I call the Prius Moneyshot...

That sweet, sweet, mileage.

The last vehicle I drove that got such awesome MPG was a moped. In the above you can see the MFD (that touch screen I talked about, currently displaying Energy Consumption), the distant speedometer readout and the blue blur that is my radar detector.

Now I've mentioned hacks for the car no less than three times so far, so they warrant a quick rundown at the least. Here's what I've done to the car so far.

Hacks

• Disabled beeping when in reverse.
  
• Disabled passenger seatbelt alert
• Disabled driver seatbelt alert
• Hacked firmware to allow me to dial phone numbers on the touch screen while in motion.
• Enabled voice control (allegedly only available with the Nav system I didn't buy.)
  
• Removed parts of the wheel that didn't do anything (in above photo the "webbing" between spokes).
  
• Increased tire pressure for better mileage.
  
• Hacked wireless sensors in tires to accept higher pressure than expected.
  
• Hacked same sensors to alert me when I lost 2 PSI instead of the standard 18.
  
• EV mode. Allows me to choose to run the car as a hybrid or all electric. Short for Electric Vehicle mode.
  

Now, dear reader, is when I need your help. I haven't been able to sufficiently name this car. The last one was easy; Tom Celica. It hung together so nicely. So I'm turning to you, my audience to suggest names. Here's what I've come up with so far.

Potential Prius Names:

• Priapus. If you're not snickering over that one click the link and find out why I am.
  
• Judas Prius. Self explanatory.
  
• HAL. Open the hatchback door HAL. "I'm afraid I can't do that, Scott."
  
• Icarus. There's really no reason for this one. I just like it and I, like Robert Plant, hold a fondness for the character. Besides, NASA used to give things awesome mythological names. Why can't I? Also, I think that was the name of the ship in Sunshine, which is the best SciFi movie I've seen since Serenity.
  
• Evey. Dual reference, Evey Hammond from V for Vendetta, and the EV mode.

And that's all I've got. Here's my offer, if any of you come up with a name for this car, I'll buy you a 20 dollar iTunes gift certificate. All I need for that is your email, and I'd be roughly 20 dollars worth of grateful. Otherwise just let me know what you think of my potentials.

Annnd... Go.

Don't be hatin'

I've been through conversations like the below so many times now I feel I have to respond in writing. I do so here:

Typical comment #1: "You know that thing is going to break down in six years. I heard you have to get a new one after that."
Typical comment #2: "You know, they don't really pay for themselves. It would take like 100 years for them to pay for themselves."
Typical comment #3: "So... you're an environmentalist now?"

Response #1: Piss off. There are Prii (I loves me words that end in "i" when plural) used as taxis with upwards of 250,000 miles on them, and that have been in service since the first Gen version, and that came out in 2001.

Response #2: Oh no! Really? I had expected for the gas savings to pay off the mortgage of my house, put my grandchildren through college, and give me regular blow jobs! What will I do?! Oh, that's right. Nobody expects a car to pay for itself. Speaking of things paying off, how's that barcodesque comb-over working out for you? You know who you are...

Response #3: Pfft. I just ate veal, and mopped my kitchen with a baby seal fur. This is about cash and techno-lust, not activism. However, a certain type of woman has a very favorable reaction to a Prius, and I do encourage that.

Requiescat In Pace, Tom Celica.

I'm ready to tell you. Let's get into the meat of the posts. The ones that really matter. The ones that really say something. For instance the ones where I end up in the custody of the police. How's that sound?

You may remember my run-ins with the law from posts like this one: Scott Outruns the Law. Well, this one is related. You see, my faithful car Tom Celica, was whisking me off to work once again. I was making good time. I had a lot of personal issues on my mind which I was expressing through the magic of song, when all of a sudden there it was.

It was my white whale. My One Ring. My bowl-of-Trix-snatched-away-from-me-by-cruel-children.

It was, dear readers... a car that had surrendered all semblance of aerodynamics. I had seen it before, and always desired a closer look. It lacked beauty. It no longer even paid lip-service to the concept. Some foul beast had besotted a red Geo Metro hatchback with all manner of antenna. Somehow they made it more hideous and hard for me to visually process. It were a car no longer, but instead a hideous technological abomination, cast back in time from some bygone alternate future. It looked... something like this:

An "artist's" conception of the monstrosity.

And in that fate-laden moment was entranced by the Cthulhu-esque abortion of a vehicle. Unfortunately, the other drivers were not so distracted. The line of vehicles ahead of me suddenly locked up their breaks. Sensing a slow down, I tore myself away from the blood-magicks of the car and looked ahead.

The slow-down was worse than I'd thought. In that split second distracted by the radio and that damn porcupine-mobile, the traffic had come to a complete stop (using brakes... assholes). And I was already less than a car's length away from the next one. There was an instant of bullet-time; I watched the front end disintegrate; I saw the airbags deploy; and I saw the car behind me manage to stop.

Getting out before I was in control of my actions again, I sprinted to the car I had just made an emergency 50mph stop into. I think I got there faster than she expected because appearing at her window I gave her a little jolt of surprise. She was OK. Her car was OK. When I turned back to mine, this is what I saw.

I know I'm in the middle of a four-lane highway, but damn, this looks blogable.


According to Toyota, the car runs best with those fluids inside the engine.


The airbags didn't actually do much besides total the car and make it smell horrible.

The cops showed up, talked to me, read my license plate in the cop phonetic alphabet, and threw me in the back of the squad car.

I figured, hell I'm not here very often. Seems like a good time to take a picture. Unfortunately, I look like hell. But cut me some slack, I just killed Tom Celica.

In the end, the cops were very accommodating. They let me get all my stuff out of the car, and then promptly dropped me off at a Denny's, and also gave me no ticket. What I had instead was a quest. A fire. I would find the man who drives that Red Abomination Machine. And when I had him before me he would have to answer for what he did to Tom Celica (not to mention his own ride).

I'm compiling a dossier on him. So far I know that he frequents 270 between 170 and Dorsett road on Tuesdays, Thursdays, and Fridays. Generally towards the 8:00 hour. My plan is to be late for work one day so that I can follow him, stop him somehow, and demand an explanation for his distraction contraption.

In the next post: my new (and improved) ride.

- Scott

P.S. Sorry this is an immense word-dump. But these memories are seared into my brain. And apparently read-only. So no editing this time around.

With a pang of sadness like a +3 STR dirk to the heart

Gary Gygax, creator of D&D, has passed away at the age of 69 (heh).

I know that I had little to do with his passing, some would say none, and that I didn't do this art (thanks for letting me rip you off Penny Arcade.) But I'm not finished with my arrest post and I'm sick of seeing the Diggnation one every time. Besides, a great nerd has passed away.

A moment of... [rolls d20]... contemplative nerdery.

A reasonable excuse for a filler post.

- Scott