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It’s simple, just two hooks that clip over the passenger side headrest, attached to a baseball cap. That way, cops coming up from behind think that there’s someone tall in the passenger seat. It’ll have a drape of black velvet coming down the back so you can’t see through that space at the bottom of the headrest. It’ll just look like you’re commuting with Yao Ming. If you get pulled over, it’s not technically illegal and sometimes cops have a sense of humor. Or they’ll pepper spray your ass. But it’s worth a shot, right?

I’m sorry I’m not going to be around to teach you how to drive, Natalia. I would like the challenge. I know saying this in print will further paint me as the misogynist ape that a lot of people think I am, but chicks can’t drive. I don’t let your mother drive when we go out together unless I’m drunk. Which is often.

On my short-lived Speed Cha

Not that I would get the chance if I were alive. I lament that you kids, and kids in general, aren’t ever going to drive manual cars. We were much more engaged behind the wheel when we drove stick. There’s no texting and driving with a manual transmission. You have to focus, but you feel totally in control, too.

This is especially going to be a handicap for boys. Therefore, I am making this deathbed proclamation. So

I want to reiterate the most important feeling I have about you two and cars: I’m not buying one for either of you. A car is something you have to earn. All of my shit vehicles were detailed in my previous books: trucks with bolted-down bar stools for seats, screwdrivers for keys and vice grips replacing the missing window cranks.

In Carolla style, both of you are going to have to go through a series of shitboxes, like I did, so that you can feel the pride of ownership that comes with a new vehicle. I want you to feel the sting of driving a car with a coat hanger for an ante