We’ve got movement, baby. The new rims are finally built—polished, smooth, and pressure-proof. No more sad balloon pops on the roadside. Slime’s pumped in for puncture defense. The side-by-side is now officially wheel-ready, and I’m already picturing it rolling like a coffin on parade day.
The seat situation is shaping up too. Think less “bench” and more “psychedelic gothic cathedral throne.” It’s a love seat for misfits—half church pew, half acid trip. The frame is there, the decorations are there, the energy is there. The only thing missing is the cushioning. Something soft, something sinister. A perch worthy of a witch’s spooky bottom. I’ll get there… eventually.
But let’s not pretend this has been smooth sailing. The power tools are staging a rebellion. My drill batteries are tired, old men—charging to half-capacity, running for five minutes, and then slumping back into the grave. Every project session is like wringing blood from a stone. And don’t even get me started on the “plans.” Plans? Please. I’m winging this entire build. Every cut is a gamble. Some are clean. Some are mistakes. But honestly? Those screw-ups are giving this seat a kind of organic, sculpted chaos. Can you even sculpt with plywood and a drill? Apparently, yes. Apparently, that’s what we’re doing here.
And then there’s the Sunpro DIY store saga. You’d think grabbing some masking tape would be a quick errand. Nope. I stood there for what felt like years, staring at rolls of tape priced at over ten bucks each. Ten. Dollars. For tape. Legalized robbery, plain and simple. And it hit me—if it’s okay for stores to price-gouge like this and basically mug us with receipts, then why is shoplifting not okay? Where’s the justice in that? Honestly, there should be a lie detector machine at checkout, wired straight into your soul. You see a price, your gut flips, and if the machine decides the store is ripping you off? Boom—they get charged with theft. Fair is fair.
Still pending:
• The seat’s soft guts.
• Swapping the rear wheels.
• Lights, because parades demand spectacle.
• A basket that can carry both groceries and your sins.
After that? Just a good rattle-down, tighten the bolts, and the beast is parade-ready
Deathjuice Rat Rod Customs: The Side-by-Side Saga. Part 6 of 43
We’ve got movement, baby. The new rims are finally built—polished, smooth, and pressure-proof. No more sad balloon pops on the roadside. Slime’s pumped in for puncture defense. The side-by-side is now officially wheel-ready, and I’m already picturing it rolling like a coffin on parade day.
The seat situation is shaping up too. Think less “bench” and more “psychedelic gothic cathedral throne.” It’s a love seat for misfits—half church pew, half acid trip. The frame is there, the decorations are there, the energy is there. The only thing missing is the cushioning. Something soft, something sinister. A perch worthy of a witch’s spooky bottom. I’ll get there… eventually.
But let’s not pretend this has been smooth sailing. The power tools are staging a rebellion. My drill batteries are tired, old men—charging to half-capacity, running for five minutes, and then slumping back into the grave. Every project session is like wringing blood from a stone. And don’t even get me started on the “plans.” Plans? Please. I’m winging this entire build. Every cut is a gamble. Some are clean. Some are mistakes. But honestly? Those screw-ups are giving this seat a kind of organic, sculpted chaos. Can you even sculpt with plywood and a drill? Apparently, yes. Apparently, that’s what we’re doing here.
And then there’s the Sunpro DIY store saga. You’d think grabbing some masking tape would be a quick errand. Nope. I stood there for what felt like years, staring at rolls of tape priced at over ten bucks each. Ten. Dollars. For tape. Legalized robbery, plain and simple. And it hit me—if it’s okay for stores to price-gouge like this and basically mug us with receipts, then why is shoplifting not okay? Where’s the justice in that? Honestly, there should be a lie detector machine at checkout, wired straight into your soul. You see a price, your gut flips, and if the machine decides the store is ripping you off? Boom—they get charged with theft. Fair is fair.
Still pending:
• The seat’s soft guts.
• Swapping the rear wheels.
• Lights, because parades demand spectacle.
• A basket that can carry both groceries and your sins.
After that? Just a good rattle-down, tighten the bolts, and the beast is parade-ready.