In Honor of The Driver
Do you ever feel that your consciousness has fragmented and that your life is traveling down several divergent paths? The Driver can help you bring all of your paths into CONVERGENCE and you will know unity and harmony. The Driver is not a mysterious force that populates our universe; the Driver is here, now, concrete, tangible, lickable even, and he exists to ensure that your life takes on new meaning.
The Driver is a guiding paradigm to self betterment. In a few short weeks, by following the advice of The Driver you can accomplish some, all, or even none of the following:
Oh yes you say "Thank you, the Devil, for giving me a guiding paradigm to self betterment," but maybe you don't know who the Driver is? Tom Brady, quarterback for the Super Bowl Champion New England Patriots. Oh yes Tom Brady will take you to your own personal Super Bowl, garner the respect of ghosts and help you crush animals with your mind. But soon you will realize that your very own Super Bowl ship has been commandeered by none other than pirate Tom Brady, who will be harvesting your women and assuming your mantle and the ensuing Super Bowl Championship Vince Lombardi Trophy
With his help you can win a sorcerer's duel up to level thirty! The Driver is insured for 50,000 dollars of amulet protection.
With this power, coupled with your two year degree in assisting the visually impaired, before you know it The Driver will have you following blind people around to tell them that their clothes match. You will not be required to iron their clothes or drive them anywhere, not even for double your normal hourly wage, but you will be required to brush your teeth after every meal. The blind have a way with smells that would put a Kurt Warner to shame.
Lest you forget his skills, the Driver is a greatly famous and powerful being, a leader not unlike Matt Nokes, catching sensation of the Detroit Tigers and indisputable, Rated Rookie. The Driver has nothing to do with 2B Lou Whitaker, accept no imitations. It has been said that the Driver invented the Moon, so as to insure that the Earth would not fall apart (this claim was later proved false, when the Driver admitted that he did not make the Moon but merely borrowed it from a friend). The Driver is fond of turtles, he is their de facto patron saint, and this will be made known to you as you find yourself being ported around with the Lombardi trophy in an elegant turtle carriage resplendent with a noble green. The Driver will be holding the trophy. You will be enjoying the ride.
This is, symbolically, the ride that The Driver will provide you with in your new life of leisure. This is not to say you will simply be dropped smack into the lap of luxury, rather you will have to work hard spending time with the heavy bag as The Driver screams at you from the shadows. He is always in the shadows, whether you see him or not, and he will coach or spite you depending on his whim. Indeed he can be a fickle sort and it is better to court him and be rebuffed than to take offense at his paroxysms of rage and risk further reddening of an already ruddy face. His kick can break through three feet of steel reinforced concrete, but he is said to always keep it in his holster and never use it to harm another human being.
The Driver's journey will take you somewhere you never intended. You had been divergent for a reason, and you will become convergent to an unnatural destination. Maybe China. Maybe the Dwight D. Eisenhower of your soul. But these are things that will no longer be in your control -- you are just The Passenger, losing your identity, becoming somebody else (a gun runner) becoming nobody (a reporter) and your very existence will be replaced by the absence of your value.
You are nothing.
The Driver is everything.
All must be done in honor of The Driver.
The guns are gone. Now what happens to all those paper targets? Don't tell me you forgot about the paper targets. The ones hanging from little clips on fancy clotheslines at shooting ranges. With no guns to destroy these legions of paper bastards, they go unchecked.
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