Driving Mr. Gibson

You don't have to tell me. I know.

There you were, with bated breath, just waiting and waiting to see what I was going to name my car. And I dropped the ball. I did not deliver.

Forgive me. Ahem.

Introducing . . . the new terror of the open road, the green golfer, the one and only green dragon, the green jellybean, the lean mean speedy green vaseline where-have-you-been machine:

Gibson.

No, not the actor.

Like, the guitars. What do you take me for?

You also don't have to tell me he's the cutest li'l thing ever to rock a 1.8 turbo engine.

Hee hee. Mine.