Can't Change Tire

After quite a bit of effort, I have failed to change a flat tire. It is now 6:04, and I am awaiting the arrival of Triple-A. They are lost.

I am not a real man.

The stunning realization that I am a Generation (fill in the blank) shmuck, totally incapable of the tasks which my forefathers consider routine is a worrisome thought. Heaven forbid I should have to protect my person, or hunt for food. There are no doubt vicious creatures of the wild licking their chops at this very moment, thinking of my deliciously weak, starving self, strewn across a rotting log, slowly dying of dehydration, while they move in for the kill.


I spent a good amount of time struggling with that four prong star shaped lug-nut thingie (I don't even know what its called), before my dad informed me that in all likelihood they won't come off until after you take off the hubcab.

I can't get the hubcap off either.

So instead, I called triple-A, to change the tire for me. Than I sat down to write a blog about my personal experience, about what a failure I am.

I am the future of America.

I need to be more like This:

And less like this: