Everyone Would Be In Love With Me
It's been ten years since we bought a new car. We've been enjoying the fact that not only do we not have a regular car payment, but every year our insurance goes down a little bit, registration is less costly and--because of the mutual distrust and suspicion that forms the base of my marriage--the less likely each of our respective rides is to be a dude and/or chick magnet for the other out there in the mean, nasty, adulterous world. It's all the same rationale we have for me telling Mrs. Pops she could stand to put on a few pounds and her insistence that back hair is not only sexy but should be the featured part of my anatomy. I have a fridge full of pudding and a closet full of tank tops if you doubt me.

Eventually there are practical considerations to... you know... consider. Like the typical life-span of your average modern internal combustion engine motor vehicle. Ten years is a long time. If our oldest care were a dog, we would have had to hand it over to that surly fucker Carlson a long time ago.

When we bought our last car, neither the future Mrs. Pops nor I were yet college graduates. She was interning and I was working off campus making minimum wage plus tips* at Sunshine Lucky Massage. The quality of said motor vehicle reflected that.

It has since proved to be a remarkably reliable vehicle, one I recommend to anyone buying a new car even though the company stopped making them about four years ago. Not a lot of people ask me for advice.

This time around, we were more established professional-type people, or at least one of us was and the other one was me. Practicality, sure, but we could afford to stretch ourselves a little. To get something we needed, but also with a little something extra that we maybe we just good ole fashion American wanted.



So we can't exactly fit it in the garage. Or any conventional parking space. Or under freeway overpasses and some lightpoles. But man, look at those lines!

Roomy. Comfortable. Seats eleven. We paid for the Neverending Steamer Full O' Weiners option, so there's always a handy snack at hand when you need one.

The downsides are the size and the 0.8 miles per gallon fuel efficiency rating and the constant crowd of children that materializes behind us whenever we slow down below 30 miles per hour.

If I were a pedophile, this would be the most practical vehicle in the world. But since I'm not, alas, it's mostly just a traffic hazard.

I'm not going to lie, I bought it mostly for the double-entendres.

It's a dick on a futon. With wheels.

You resist it. I earned it.



This post on the Narcissus Scale: 9.9



Pops

* = shafts were extra

Labels: Sebastopol

- posted by Pops @ 9:31 PM