I have no car. What an amazing statement. To my wife, it's exciting. To appreciate this opinion, one only need know that tomorrow is her twenty-seventh birthday and she's yet to get a driver's license. Me? I'm in full-blown panic mode. My world has suddenly shrunk to mere miles. I knew that this day was coming for some time, but nonetheless... Denial isn't just a river in, uh... you know... over there. So, what to do?
First, I'm stripping my car down of its meager values. Speakers, CD player, uh... floor mats. You know, shit nobody would want to steal anyway. When the tow truck dropped my car off this morning, I immediately got into it and took out a White Stripes CD. I was being practical.
Second, I'm stripping my car of any identifiable personal characteristics. Stickers will peel off under a straight edge blade, so I need to go off and buy one. I'll miss my Homer "certimafide" sticker, the Bruce Lee portrait, my "Twelve Monkeys" decal, and the super-cool drawing of the war God Cali. Those stickers will be missed... Didn't I just say that?
Third, I will remove and discard all the useless crap that has been weighing down my car all these years: milk crates, empty bottles, floor mats (yeah, they're not valuable after all), all the shit in my glove box (maps, envelopes, tire gauges, books of matches), and that permanent roll of electric tape in the ashtray.
Fourth, and finally, I'll call some non-profit joint and have my car donated to charity. Then she will be gone, my beloved car. She has witnessed many things with me first-hand: my wife, my school days, death of dreams (speaking of school days), trips across many a state line, and an emaculate road head experience that I'll never forget as long as I've my senses. She's my friend, so it pained me to hear her die. She's been paid off for several years, so I can legitimately say she is mine. Still, off to car heaven she goes. Good-bye, Jadey. Fare thee well, ol' rust bucket. Tell God I said, "What's with all the hate, man?"
So, what's next? Bicycles. Yeah! Scary. Well, we'll see... I'm mostly concerned about the ride to work (5 miles or so, as the crow doesn't fly), but when the weather gets really fucking cold... well, then I'll really be missing my Jadey.
Speaking of crows, do you know what a group of crows is called? A murder. No, really. I read that in a book. You know, for car eulogies, this is shit. Well, fuck it. I'm tired and my favorite football team lost by a point. So, eff off effers.
First, I'm stripping my car down of its meager values. Speakers, CD player, uh... floor mats. You know, shit nobody would want to steal anyway. When the tow truck dropped my car off this morning, I immediately got into it and took out a White Stripes CD. I was being practical.
Second, I'm stripping my car of any identifiable personal characteristics. Stickers will peel off under a straight edge blade, so I need to go off and buy one. I'll miss my Homer "certimafide" sticker, the Bruce Lee portrait, my "Twelve Monkeys" decal, and the super-cool drawing of the war God Cali. Those stickers will be missed... Didn't I just say that?
Third, I will remove and discard all the useless crap that has been weighing down my car all these years: milk crates, empty bottles, floor mats (yeah, they're not valuable after all), all the shit in my glove box (maps, envelopes, tire gauges, books of matches), and that permanent roll of electric tape in the ashtray.
Fourth, and finally, I'll call some non-profit joint and have my car donated to charity. Then she will be gone, my beloved car. She has witnessed many things with me first-hand: my wife, my school days, death of dreams (speaking of school days), trips across many a state line, and an emaculate road head experience that I'll never forget as long as I've my senses. She's my friend, so it pained me to hear her die. She's been paid off for several years, so I can legitimately say she is mine. Still, off to car heaven she goes. Good-bye, Jadey. Fare thee well, ol' rust bucket. Tell God I said, "What's with all the hate, man?"
So, what's next? Bicycles. Yeah! Scary. Well, we'll see... I'm mostly concerned about the ride to work (5 miles or so, as the crow doesn't fly), but when the weather gets really fucking cold... well, then I'll really be missing my Jadey.
Speaking of crows, do you know what a group of crows is called? A murder. No, really. I read that in a book. You know, for car eulogies, this is shit. Well, fuck it. I'm tired and my favorite football team lost by a point. So, eff off effers.