Earlier this evening, I decided to visit my pal nate with my friend lauren.  It's a short drive to nate's house, one might even say a pleasant jaunt through pleasure town; then again one doesn't usually know what one's talking about.  The important thing is, is that my car was making a slightly odd noise.  A rapping noise...not unlike the mad riznhymes of icecube.  The noise was faint, kind of like the pitter patter of little feet from those children you put in the basement after your illicit love affair with the spanish cleaning guy that went horribly awry (though it showed you more than one use for a spray-bottle).  So this sound seems to me like something to check out, but probably not something that was going to break my car in the next five minutes.  So I get to nate's eat some food, and we rent species III from the blockbuster.  On a side note, that movie should be re-named 'superfluous boobies III' for a more accurate description of the content of the movie.  Granted, when one sees a species film, one is not exactly looking for depth of character development, nor anything really...except breasts.  But can you have too much breastification?  I do certainly believe that you can.  You see, in SBIII as we will now call it, breasts were shown even when there was no cause, not even PROBABLE CAUSE for such buxome display.  In fact, it seemed as though, literally, there were more scenes with the female lead while she was topless, then those while she donned clothing.  This being said, the toplessness (which we usually attribute to eroticism) was made into the simple backdrop of the movie.  This in itself is kind of an interesting artistic expansion on how we understand the 'honkers,' but did it have a proper place in a movie with GAMC?  (For those of you just tuning in, GAMC stands for Giant Alien Man Cock, and is a staple of pretty much every sci-fi movie ever made)  The movie closes with a whimper, and I decide to return home.  Little did I know, that gentle rapping noise was now the sound of a roaring machine gun.  Completely unphased by this cacaphony, I trudged everforward, hoping that my superior verbal skills would be able to put this great machine in its place.  Then...my car bent me over and put a filing cabinet in my lower intestine.  The machine gun fire became a giant explosion and flames shot out from under my hood.  (no, I'm not talking about my recent battle with the clap)  Then, as always naturally follows, an enormous cloud of yellow smoke came billowing out from my car.  I took refuge behind a nearby overweight woman.  Needless to say, my car is now totally busted, and once again, I'm eating shards of glass I find in the public toilet at the bus-station.  Hoo-ray.