Comedy Story: My Junky Second Hand Car

You know, we've been together for a long time my little blue rocket. Ironically enough this is how my ex girlfriend addressed my dick. Here however, I am referring to my car, which is merely an extension of the donger at least according to how bitter your ex really is. Little blue rocket, why do you rattle constantly? You have no moving parts aside from the wheels and steering mechanism. I don't know anything about cars, but I do remember that when you and I first met, you never rattled.

So what is this? Your impersonation of somebody's grandparents? So you are doing your version of prattling on and on about how things were much better in 1955? Well here is the answer that you and many prattling elderly people need to hear: “Please, shut the fuck up. I not have a time machine to take you back to 1955. Please remember that back then your grandparents thought that those days sucked ass too. So do us all a favor and stow it.”

To continue this metaphor of the sagely old car that lectures me about my cornering by rattling constantly like a bucket of bolts in an earthquake, you very recently leaked water into the trunk earlier this week. What gives? I know and accept that an elderly person needs assistance in order to manage their bladder. But you are a fucking car. And they do not make diapers for fucking cars. You are an inanimate object. I looked for a hole or crack in your exterior that could have allowed the rain into the trunk. I could find no such issue. So are you sentient now? Did you open your own trunk? Did I do wrong by you in some way and now you sometimes just allow rain to flood my stuff? Well if that's the case then you are a petty, sentient car and a jackass.

I always have you serviced on time. I've had some parts of you replaced entirely at my own expense. I was the one who smashed those parts off of you by driving like a fevered house cat high on acid but that is all water under a very big, colorful bridge. Sometimes your brakes squeak and sometimes they don't. I took you in to have them checked out and they said that your brakes are working fine and the reason for the noise could not be discerned. Is this your funny little way of telling me that you want to spend more time together? We hang out on the way to work every damn day!

Now I certainly would be a terrible owner, that is if you aren't sentient, to not give you credit for the many years of service you've given me. And if you are sentient, feel free to drive wherever you want to go when I'm just chilling in my apartment. Go out and find yourself a nice lady car uptown. Or maybe you pick up women the way I do. In that case head for the nearest junkyard. Your speakers still work really well and for that I am eternally grateful. My hearing would be much better if those speakers would have busted years ago, but I'm happy to make that trade off.

You have me worried little blue car. You keep giving me mixed signals. If mixed signals are good for anything, it's destroying trust. What do you have in store for me, gonna catch on fire while I'm cruising down the highway at a perfectly moderate pace? You're acting like a girlfriend that won't say what the deal is. You won't even acknowledge that there is some sort of deal. Which is to say, you are acting like any girl.

You just keep pretending like I'm safe with you when really you could be fully prepared to do some crazy shit that will end us both. You in the scrapyard and me in the dirt. But like the crazy broad that you are,(if you are a broad) you would still think it was worth it, because ruining me was all you wanted and any price is the price you were willing to pay. If you could, I would prefer you just keep hammering home the petty stuff until I can arrange an acceptable trade for you.

I haven't done everything that I want to do so far in life so please don't kill us both. Feel free to make the windshield wipers stop working as I'm pulling into my road during a torrential downpour. Make it so that I have to roll the window down and stick my head out of the car to see where I'm going while the furious rain pelts me in the face. If that's what it takes for you to be able to tolerate me, then do as you must. Just don't pull that stunt when we're in four lanes of traffic.

Honestly, who am I kidding? I cannot afford anything better than a jalopy and you are much better than that. I don't know what to look for when trading cars, so trading you would dumb as I would most likely get burned. We've been together through thick and thin. I actually have totaled you, fingered dates in the back of you, jacked it to Kelly Rowland music at a camp site in you, slept in you. You've been there for me and I love you for it. I just get a little frustrated when you make me fear for my life. But you get me to work everyday and allow me to make a living, you're the best.

You know I've heard stories about millionaires that keep their rusted old bucket of bolts car when they make all their money. They still keep on driving that same old baby blue pickup truck because it shows that they are still the same person and no material objects could ever change any of that. If I ever get rich like that, my person will be inside of a Mazaratti and I won't much care what happens to you.

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