OK – now, sure, I don’t REALLY know that MO’s name is Mo and that his initials are MO, but when you come up against a wrdsmythe like MO who has that insane double usage of “4” how can you not believe he’s license-platually gifted? Sure, anyone with a RAV could make this same play, but who does? At least to the BOZO, MO stands alone. Like an island. A rock.
Now, the one opportunity MO missed here was a LameFrame. MO, if only you had taken the opportunity to find some chrome RAV4 bling, you could have had the LameFrame 4 x 4: four instances of RAV4 on the back! You’ve got work to do, MO.
Slo there, MO
No, I didn’t catch Jo going down Mexico way. In fact, I don’t think Jo’s got a gun OR a lady. I think Jo IS a lady. Yeah.
You go, Jo.
Hey Jo, where you goin?
Invading driveways in his (or her!) native Newport, Holmes is on a postman-style shooting spree. Look at this beauty!
Now, I’ve been know to park my sta-way facing out, but that’s to unload my hatch into the kitchen. Me thinks DAD is just trying to say to the ladays “I’m a Dad, so I’m safe, but I drives a BEEMER, so my middle name is Daynger!”
Yeah. Keep working there, 3-series.
myOChomie say "MBZ4MOM?"
I guess I’d rather see Jack spelled like this than those other great alternates like Jaxson and Mykul. But I’m hoping Jacques was just trying to respect the seven character rule here. If you think about it, license plates are like a super-short Twitter, really. So Jake is ready to Tweet!
OK, so where do you think you’d find such a LEX? Is it an SUV? Yes! Is it a Hybrid? No! Is it shiny? Yes! That means OC baby!
And what does the OC mean? It meanz myOChomie!
myOChomie say "what do Gille drive?"
Yes, yes, my loyal and ardent fans have almost given up on me, their uber-blogger. But I’m back! And I’m back, thanks to a guy down in the OC who’s proving to me that the OC makes LA look like chump change – at least in regards to the only metric that counts: B4B playtz!
So, Lily, you get picked on for more than just your gleaming, massive, BP-sucking road macheen. No, not your cash-cred Fletcher Jones, or even the fact that this is no lowly Vegas FJ outlet, but the Newport bastion of status. It’s just that, as unluck would have it, a pic of your self-and-car obsession landed in my inbox this morning under the title “Flower Power” and, well, the temptation was to great, because the contrast was too distinct between the 60s ideal and your 2010 reality.
You can probably cling to a little Janis Joplin here to explain your actions, but really, when did anyone really take her seriously?
Let’s all just hope that this whole deal was a guilt payment from your married, bald boyfriend, OK?