Barney's Blog - 2x17: License Not To Drive

"My name is Barney Stinson and I don't know how to drive." 

God that feels good to say. For years, I've been ashamed and embarrassed—handcuffed by this terrible secret from a society that demands we strap ourselves into mobile deathtraps one by one, the auto equivalent of a marriage contract. But recently, a near-death experience opened my eyes. No longer am I to be humiliated and disgraced. I am to be celebrated. My lack of vehicular knowledge shall be worn as a badge of honor—one that proudly screams, "I am Barney Stinson and I need a ride!" 

Don't believe me? Well as usual, sit back and relax as I school you in the ways of the non-mobile. Below is a comparison of a typical day in my life vs. a typical day in the life of a driver—Frank. (Please note: Frank's kids were a result of a tryst in the backseat of what? His car.) 

8:00 AM — I wake up, bid adieu to last night's conquest, and slip on my Dolce & Gabbana double—breasted. I step outside—the sun is shining, the birds are chirping, but I'm still a little sleepy. Lucky for me, all I have to do is hop in the backseat and enjoy not having to drive.

Frank's been up for hours— the kids are crying, his  wife's corn-laden feet need massaging. He throws on his overalls and heads toward his sedan. It's pouring rain and he left the car window open.
10:00 AM — Having been stimulated by a delightful conversation with my morning chauffeur, Ranjit, I've spent the last hour making more money than I could possibly spend in my fantastic, happy, awesome life.
Frank just got to work— traffic was a nightmare. Plus, he had to stop and get gas and an oil change. Total cost $2500. He would like to ask his boss for a raise, but that's ludicrous—he just showed up to work over an hour late.

12:30 PM — I call it a day at work and grab a delightful lunch at a nearby café. The meal takes a bit too long, so in the middle of eating, I go feed the parking mete—oh, that's right, I don't have a parking meter to feed. Instead, I save the money and put it toward an afternoon indulging myself in a game of laser tag. I've earned it.

Frank sure is hungry—but no time for lunch. He's off to pick up a "friend" at the airport. On the way, he scarfs down a burger and ketchup spills all over him. When he looks down to clean it up, he runs a red light. He's pulled over. Total cost of the ticket: $650.
4:00 PM — Fired up from my unprecedented streak of laser tag wins, I leisurely stroll down the streets of Manhattan. I decide to take a nap. After all, my active lifestyle would leave any mortal man tired.
Frank just got to work. On the way back from the airport, his car broke down. When he gets to a garage, the mechanic gives him the diagnosis: His rotary belt got disconnected from the carburetor, the windshield wiper and gas pedal are malfunctioning and the headlights short-circuited the electrical system, cutting horsepower by tenfold. Total cost: $23,018.

9:00 PM — All eyes are on me as I hit MacLaren's. I look good; the fresh air I got strolling around New York was rejuvenating. Tonight is going to be another sweet night. I order a few rounds and enjoy… Why not, right? I'm not driving.
Frank stays late to catch up on all the work he missed. However, he parked his car in the wrong spot and it is towed. Having to miss more work, his boss fires him. On the way home, Frank drives over a nail and gets a flat tire. He pulls over to change it when a pack of wild dogs eat him.

So take that Lisa from 11th grade who wouldn't go out with me because I didn't have a license. Owning and operating your very own motor vehicle is rarely worth the time and effort. 

I prefer to follow in the footsteps of some other famous non-drivers—Jesus Christ, George Washington and Miss Daisy—and enjoy life from the backseat.

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