Chrome wheeled fuel injected, and stepping out over the line

It's Always Sunny in Phildelphia is babbling on television. I think it's funny but I'm distracted by some wank inducing RPS. I always wonder about people that write slash--I mean slash with actual slashing! and angst!, not just nerdy musings featuring the off same sex chaste kiss the sort that completes a halfway decent joke-why the author doesn't just change the characters names and write a work of completely new fiction. Uninteresting fiction mayhaps, but it would be fiction and cause less ire. This is one of the questions for the ages. I keep reading the stuff. I don't think the Real People (always men mind you-I can't think of an instance featuring women, but then, I'm not in the Buffy fandom so I dunno) would ever in life speak in such poorly constructed sentences or spend so much time musing over a brand of cigarettes or sheet thread count. If they were to engage in what is nearly always an extramarital affair with always a co-star (or cohort in the Jon/Stephen world of slashy slashness) I think they would worry less about the details and more about making sure the cutains were closed so as to avoid being papped. But that's just my crazy worldview. The writers surely know their subjects better than I ever could.
For example: everyone smokes cigarettes without shame, everyone smokes pot and drinks scotch or gin and listens to jazz (perhaps because two guys getting wasted on margaritas and munching on potato chips whilst digging the rockin' sounds of John Mayer is too girl-y...something hot guy on guy sex simply by definition cannot be.)

Ahhh...but in reality....I am heading home to Nashville tomorrow. I'll be driving the truck, not the Honda. Cuz the Honda has decided to be unpleasant-some kind of computer issue and what Dad calls a "hinky" (technical term) clutch. This is all groovy except said truck has no CD player or tape player or any kind of crap like that. What it has is an AM/FM radio. Suckage.
I was all set to go out and buy an mp3 player and FM transmitter thing so that I could have a great deal of music to amuse me on my trip but I got to the actual store and said unto me, "Self," said I, "do you really want to purchase something that is not what you want out of desperation? Or would you rather not tough out the 9 hour drive wherein you will surely hear such rock classics as Layla and endless entreaties to Get the Led Out and save yr money to purchase the item you want? Hmmm, Self? Be honest."
Being honest, I wanted instant gratification. But that would've been silly. I mean, hey, Layla on the whole may be annoying as hell, but the last few bars (the ones written by the guy that went crazy and killed his mother) those are good. Maybe I'll always tune to the station when that part of the song is playing. I'm not good at maths, but I think there's some statistical probability of that.
It'll be fun. Me and Coupland will sing the old folk songs and tell funny stories. The time will fly.
Or, somewhere around Cincy I'll go insane. Then it won't matter anymore whether i have music or not.