The interior is a sexy combination of car seats and a radio, complete with cassette player. It also runs. Which is more than can be said for my previous car, RIP Corsica.
What sets my car apart is that it has a personality. Just like all of the vehicles I mentioned earlier, with the exception of Megan Fox. Sadly, it is the personality of an angry old man. If it could talk, it would have the voice of Clint Eastwood and tell me to get off its lawn.
Instead of turning the key, I have an ignition button on the dash. Yeah. If I'm giving a ride to any of the fine ladies that I frequently give rides to, I always offer to let them press my ignition switch. I'm a gentleman like that.
It also has four fully see-through car door windows, one of which rolls down if it feels like it. Not that it doesn't complain about it, mind you.
Neither of my two front doors work. To fix this tricky business, I have to open the front doors through the back doors. The car can never be locked. When the doors first died on me, I still locked my car all the time. Suffice to say, I got really good at breaking into my own car. I once had a policeman pull up to me while I was breaking into my car and ask if I needed help. I just told him that I'd be fine unless the owner of the car came by, then I might need some help fighting the guy off. Policemen are so helpful.
My car is also shedding little parts bit by bit: evolving to become more aerodynamic.
This is an accurate portayal of how BA I am in my car.
I know that one of these days I'll punch the ignition and crank the Eurosynth pop and drive into the unknown just like Ryan Gosling, who is too badass to use things like words when he speaks. On that day, I'll stroke the dash, whispering sweet nothings as I listen to my car's delighted purr, and count out how much change I have for gas. It should get me to Walmart, at least.
No comments:
Post a Comment