WIld Dreams

Sometimes you find yourself in a place where you finally get to experience your wildest dreams. You know, like being with the hottest girl (or girls) in high school and realizing the time you spend with that person. Talking to them or walking down the hall and having everyone in school be jealous of your connection. Having knock-out sex with them and knowing that other know that you're having knock-out sex with them. Oh, if we could all be so lucky.

Or maybe your dream is about being a rock star and performing on stage. Millions of people watching your every move and "feeling" your music. They adore you. They have seventeen of your posters plastered on their bedroom wall. They wear their favorite tour shirt of your band twice a week. You are their voice. You are their Comforter. You are the only one that truly understands them. You are their Rock-God.

Maybe one of your dreams is to go fast... fukkin fast. I stepped into one of my dreams the other day. And let me tell you, it WAS everything it was cracked up to be. The thrill is the best part. Nervous, excited, eyes wide open, hands in the air, "I cant wait for this roller coaster to start already" kind of thrill of driving a dream car. The dream cars is the Porsche 911S. The current version is a 3.8 liter, 355 horsepower, flat six, rear-engine, water-cooled, bullet-proof rocket!!! Who doesn't dream about taking one of these out on a long twisty road and feeling the G-forces pull your kidneys together. That's the kind of sensation I had the other day. I know. I know. I'm clouded and biased because I own one - albeit an older one. But like the love of a beautiful woman, or a smooth pour of an ages single malt whiskey, these bad boys just get better with time. And you cannot fault a guy that has been infatuated with these gems of a ride since oh, about birth. You can't hate something that gives you so much excitement. No matter what the cost.



After all - There is No Substitute.