Suave Story of My Ubermensch-ability

One time I was staying at the Ritz in Tokyo but I had an appointment with an hb10 over in Edo so I needed some hot wheels, which is a concept related but distinct from Hot Wheels™. (I own a lot of both because I am slovenly rich like that.) So anyway I used my iPad 4 to find the closest car dealership. It happened to be Mitsubishi. Now normally I don't tolerate motor vehicles designed, constructed or touched in any way by people who can't document their American ancestry back to their grandfathers on both sides, but as those ivory tower types say, "When in Tokyo, do as the Tokyoers do." So I compartmentalized my American Pride (!) and headed over to that aggrandized urinal of a showroom with my Oakleys on and my looks set to stun rather than kill because I had no time to get caught up in poontang.

All Mitsubishis are, objectively-speaking, rat shit covered in hantavirus but there was one automobile there that spoke to me in the guttural tones of the supermodels I pay to tell me how great I am whilst balls deep. It was a 2012 Mitsubishi Lancer GT, blood red just the way I like it. I could tell that babe of a car needed my hands and only my hands on her steering wheel.

A tiny man came over and started jibber-jabbering at me. He looked lie your ordinary Japanese guy: short. He was a regular Joe Blow Japarino so I disregarded his introduction and addressed him accordingly.

"Joe," I said, "How much does this hunk of feces here cost and don't blow smoke up my ass because my prostate only smokes the finest of Virginian tobaccos."

Joe bowed then in English with an accent thicker than my prodigious wallet he replied, "Sir, 2,499 million" then something unintelligible about when and then he started going on on about the "additional cost" of "mandatory insurance" and "license plates", et cetera, and et cetera.

Now I don't want to brag but I literally concocted the notion of negotiation from the ether (literally!) when I was still in my formative years, so the idea that this spindly squirt of a car salesman was going to upsell me was beyond farcical. I cut him off, "Look Joe, how about I don't pay for all that crap, I give you 100,000 American Dollars for the car right now and you throw in some free sushi so that I don't mention this to my Dad and/or the authorities."

In sad news for Joe, he must not have known who my Dad is, 'cause he started claiming that while the offer was "very generous," I couldn't take the car right in front of us because it was "just a showroom model" and it "needed full parts" or something.

That did it. I was already stooping well below my station in life by talking to this Mitsubishi commoner-beta male-loser and my patience was long gone. My mere presence elevated the value of all the cars in that place by about 375% yet this joker was trying to play me for the fool! So I grabbed Joe by the cheap-ass lapels on his suit, spun him around and executed a suplex just like the Undertaker tutored me, knocking Joe cold out. That certainly got everybody's attention.

A bunch of the women there ran out screaming. A manager appeared on the showroom floor gesticulating wildly with his hands like a man stranded on an island trying to get the attention of a plane. He must have only known one English word because he kept on screaming "NO! NO! NO!"

People who know me know that's not a word I like to hear.

I wasn't going to stick around and continue to receive this verbal abuse so I moved fast. I chucked a fat stack of Benjamins from my fanny pack at the manager, threw unconscious 'Joe' in the trunk, grabbed the entire key rack off the wall, threw it in the car, slammed the door shut, found the right key from the newly-made pile on the front seat on only my second try, put my emergency Styx CD that I mixed myself in the CD player, and revved the engine. Then I pulled up to the giant glass showroom window. But before I made my exit I paused Styx's 1979 Billboard Hot 100 hit "Renegade", rolled down the driver's side window and, using my perfectly calibrated voice+face punchline combo that I mastered with the help of my tutor David Caruso, I drawled, "I guess you could say I'm ... 'Taking Joe for a Lancer!'"

No one there got the joke probably because they are all so culturally backward and can't speak English so I smashed through the glass and peeled out of there for Edo where that hb10 was waiting for me. I was detained by the Japanese FBI for battery, kidnapping, and auto theft en route but I promised to use my connections to give all the cop dudes there some Yankees gear with Ichiro's signature. Then I totally bolted.