'Where to sir?'. 'We'll be meeting some fine

'Where to sir?'. 'We'll be meeting some fine gentlemen at the lunar station of Parsan mr. Delhi.' 'yes sir! we have a business transaction than sir?'. 'Yes we do mate, a promising

thing where I get the rights to the dark side of the moon in exchange for a non-aggression treaty with the light side." I smiled. "Not shabby!" said Mr. Delhi, "But I'll take half"

"You want half of the dark side?" I asked incredulously. I knew who owned the dark side and any dealings with her in the past had not gone well.

Asking for half of the shares to the dark side was bonkers. The old hag was known to remove people's fingernails with pliers. Goodness knows what she'd do to him.

So, we decided that going to see her was out of the question. We thought and we thought, and then we

thought some more. Then a strange thing happened-nothing. We thought about that until we had migraines. But still, nothing. Then I had an idea, and we brainstormed and then

we ended up performing some sort of pagan sadistic ritual in the deep of the forest, drinking the blood of a middle-aged ginger virgin. But that still doesn't explain my itchy

-with-a-capital-B wife always whining about my choice of religion. "No drinking blood! No sacrificing virgins!" she'd complain. Whatever! This is America, and that means

that Aztec prejudice had been socially acceptable ever since Pontiac introduced that butt ugly car. But this was 2011, and we Aztecs are still here. As for Pontiac? Not so much.

The native peoples were "all set" with the native car monikers. Why couldn't we have more Edsels or Whities rather than Aztecs, Pontiacs, and Cherokees?