Well, it’s that weekend again. The one where the Speed Channel shows the Barret-Jackson Auction being held in Scottsdale, Arizona. Also known at my house as “The Auction of Cars I Will Never Be Able To Afford in This Lifetime. Unless My Wife Divorces Me, Marries A Rich Guy, and Keeps Me on the Side… Hey Honey!!”

So they’re auctioning off all these pretty cars with their shiny tires (a-hem, excuse me, rims) and gleaming hoods and I’m left wondering who has the money to pay 250,000 dollars for a car. And then it happens. A couple of maniacs, yes certifiably insane nutcases, start bidding. And bidding. And the car (who knows what kind but I can tell you it was gold- no not solid gold or made of gold or even trimmed in gold, though you’d think so from the price- but the color gold) the car sells for THREE FREAKING MILLION DOLLARS!! And you know where it’s going. To a car museum.

Now, I want to know. First, who spends 3 million dollars on a car? Second, who in the HELL spends 3 million dollars on a car!!

*hopping up on soapbox*

Does anyone out there know how much food 3 million dollars will buy for those starving children in Ethiopia? Oh wait… for those survivors of The Tsunami? How many dogs, cats, other animals lives could be saved or made more comfortable? How many college educations for underprivileged children. Does anyone know how many books three million dollars will buy for a broke stay at home mom???

How can anyone, and I do mean anyone, justify spending three million dollars on a car? It’s just not right. We have become a de-sensitized, greedy, capitalistic, litigious society. Who decides that a car, a car for Pete’s sake, is worth three million dollars? By God, this thing had better be able to sprout wings and fly me to the moon for that kind of money. Did I mention it sold for three million dollars (and I’m not saying that in the cute Mike Myers/Dr. Evil kind of way but more in the pissed off wife whose husband went out to buy diapers and came home with a Hustler magazine instead kind of voice) (*didn’t really happen but you can imagine that tone of voice*)

*climbing the ladder down off soapbox*

What’s the point of the tale? Oh, so, if you see a gold car driving down the street, you can jump out in front of it and sue the bastard for all he’s worth, because he can afford it, and if he can’t, well, who cares if his wife and kids get thrown out of their home? It’s not your problem! He hit you! And then make sure you sell your story to The National Enquirer- no sense letting the story of how the 3 Million Dollar Car ruined your sex life go unpublished. I mean, they pay for those things, right?

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