Just Hangin' With My Pals Dante And Virgil


Once in a week, it's a distraction.

Twice is an annoyance.

Three times stuck in a car dealership waiting room with one or more of your kids while they diagnose again what is wrong with your pimped-out Windstar in the course of a week, well, that's just bordering on the metaphysical.

The only good news is that as I sat there--again--waiting--again--for more bad news, I managed to expiate some besmirchy sin from my cosmic ledger. All that shit related to summer sleep-away camp when I was nine? Gone! Catholicism WOW!

Also, I'd be lying if I said there wasn't a tiny, tiny bit of satisfaction involved when mechanics fuck up your car for you. It makes it a tiny, tiny bit more liveable to know they were working on my car and there was no power in heaven or earth that would move me to pay one more cent for it. Considering what I originally paid for labor when I took it in in the first place last week, I'd say the whole deal is nearly bordering on the cost-effective.

But like I said, tiny tiny. I'd rather have my working P.O.S.-mobile.

They offered me a rental. I stared at them. They said they would pay for it. I stared at them. In order to ensure they would pay the most out of pocket possible AND as a sop to those of you who couldn't believe that a bad-ass like me rode around in a minivan (with no regard for my chromed-out dubs, apparently) I held out for this:



And from Enterprise Rent-A-Car! Who knew! I don't know where the kids are going to sit, but fuck it. I try to be responsible and look where it's gotten me?

That's right, in the cockpit of a Countach.

Cockpit... Countach... yeah, that's acceptably dirty.


This post on the Narcissus Scale: 9.9


Pops
- posted by Pops @ 11:11 AM