The Deliverator's car has enough potential energy packed into its batteries to
fire a pound of bacon into the Asteroid Belt. Unlike a bimbo box or a Burb
beater, the Deliverator's car unloads that power through gaping, gleaming,
polished sphincters. When the Deliverator puts the hammer down, shit happens.
You want to talk contact patches? Your car's tires have tiny contact patches,
talk to the asphalt in four places the size of your tongue. The Deliverator's
car has big sticky tires with contact patches the size of a fat lady's thighs.
The Deliverator is in touch with the road, starts like a bad day, stops on a
peseta.
Why is the Deliverator so equipped? Because people rely on him. He is a role
model. This is America. People do whatever the fuck they feel like doing, you
got a problem with that? Because they have a right to. And because they have
guns and no one can fucking stop them. As a result, this country has one of the
worst economies in the world. When it gets down to it -- talking trade balances
here -- once we've brain-drained all our technology into other countries, once
things have evened out, they're making cars in Bolivia and microwave ovens in
Tadzhikistan and selling them here -- once our edge in natural resources has
been made irrelevant by giant Hong Kong ships and dirigibles that can ship North
Dakota all the way to New Zealand for a nickel -- once the Invisible Hand has
taken all those historical inequities and smeared them out into a broad global
layer of what a Pakistani brickmaker would consider to be prosperity -- y'know
what? There's only four things we do better than anyone else
music
movies
microcode {software}
high-speed pizza delivery
The Deliverator used to make software. Still does, sometimes. But if life were
a mellow elementary school run by well-meaning education Ph.D.s, the
Deliverator's report card would say: "Hiro is so bright and creative but needs
to work harder on his cooperation skills."
So now he has this other job. No brightness or creativity involved -- but no
cooperation either. Just a single principle: The Deliverator stands tall, your
pie in thirty minutes or you can have it free, shoot the driver, take his car,
file a class-action suit. The Deliverator has been working this job for six
months, a rich and lengthy tenure by his standards, and has never delivered a
pizza in more than twenty-one minutes.
fire a pound of bacon into the Asteroid Belt. Unlike a bimbo box or a Burb
beater, the Deliverator's car unloads that power through gaping, gleaming,
polished sphincters. When the Deliverator puts the hammer down, shit happens.
You want to talk contact patches? Your car's tires have tiny contact patches,
talk to the asphalt in four places the size of your tongue. The Deliverator's
car has big sticky tires with contact patches the size of a fat lady's thighs.
The Deliverator is in touch with the road, starts like a bad day, stops on a
peseta.
Why is the Deliverator so equipped? Because people rely on him. He is a role
model. This is America. People do whatever the fuck they feel like doing, you
got a problem with that? Because they have a right to. And because they have
guns and no one can fucking stop them. As a result, this country has one of the
worst economies in the world. When it gets down to it -- talking trade balances
here -- once we've brain-drained all our technology into other countries, once
things have evened out, they're making cars in Bolivia and microwave ovens in
Tadzhikistan and selling them here -- once our edge in natural resources has
been made irrelevant by giant Hong Kong ships and dirigibles that can ship North
Dakota all the way to New Zealand for a nickel -- once the Invisible Hand has
taken all those historical inequities and smeared them out into a broad global
layer of what a Pakistani brickmaker would consider to be prosperity -- y'know
what? There's only four things we do better than anyone else
music
movies
microcode {software}
high-speed pizza delivery
The Deliverator used to make software. Still does, sometimes. But if life were
a mellow elementary school run by well-meaning education Ph.D.s, the
Deliverator's report card would say: "Hiro is so bright and creative but needs
to work harder on his cooperation skills."
So now he has this other job. No brightness or creativity involved -- but no
cooperation either. Just a single principle: The Deliverator stands tall, your
pie in thirty minutes or you can have it free, shoot the driver, take his car,
file a class-action suit. The Deliverator has been working this job for six
months, a rich and lengthy tenure by his standards, and has never delivered a
pizza in more than twenty-one minutes.
( Neal Stephenson )
[ Snow Crash ]
www.QuoteSweet.com