Posts Tagged ‘chick magnet’

I drive a 2001 Gold Subaru Forester. Ultimate chick magnet mobile. It actually came with a condom holder it was designed to attract women so badly. It does not run on fuel. My car runs on Axe deodorant. If you see me driving without a hot babe beside me take a closer look. Her head is probably somewhere else. Yep, driving a long-lasting automobile is the way to go if you want to make a woman preen with sexual desire.

Okay, maybe no girl will ever fall for me over my car. I’m not even sure if it’s a 2001 or a 2002. I’m that unknowledgeable about these devices. I feel like a rhino could write Shakespeare before I could ever build an automobile. And the only thing rhyming with rhino is gyno or wino. Gynos can’t write poetry and neither can winos. Cars are not something that are very important to me. Sure, I’d love to drive a Porsche with a door that opens upward. I love things opening upward! Star Wars doors are fantastic. Or maybe I’m thinking of garage doors. Either way, both are badass.

 (I could totally see Storm Troopers blast out of that garage. The lesbian riding shotgun even has a Luke Skywalker hairdo)

My life has had two cars in it. My first was a 1998 Red Dodge Intrepid. Boomhauer from my post Weird Kids would always tell me that it was a Chrysler. I knew it wasn’t a Chrysler because it said Dodge on the back. I had a lot of problems with the car. My first day driving it broke down two blocks away from my house. Mechanics said it was because the previous owner was probably old and drove slowly. The computer must not have been used to the way I drove. Sounds like they’re confusing cars with girlfriends. They’re mechanics. Cars sometimes are the only women in their lives. I also went a few months with my driver’s door not working. I would have to slide across the passenger seat. I still managed to get my first girlfriend despite this. And she didn’t break up with me because of it! Thank goodness I was too out of shape and boring for her. I might have felt bad otherwise if my car was to blame.

The old car broke down quite a bit. Brand new engine and everything. Maybe it needed a new hemmy? I don’t know what a hemmy is. Men with large guts in truck commercials seem to get hard-ons talking about them. The current car runs pretty smoothly. It’s always been rather loud which can be a pain during a drive by shooting or child abduction. I get why gang members always drive new quiet cars and why bitter weekend dads keep up with their oil changes. You don’t want everyone looking at you before you commit the crime. It gives them time to let your face sink into the minds of those snitches.

(All smiles as Roy finishes up his oil change in preparation to kidnap his teenage children from his ex-wife with precise precision and not a sound)

As well as the car runs, things are not near perfect. The backseat is consistently filled with trash. If I had someone to impress or wasn’t so lazy as to bring my car trash can back out there then maybe things would be less of a mess. It’s really not that bad. I’m not one of those people with M&M shells lying around. I hate sitting in a car with M&M stains on the seats. That’s always a sign the driver is a diabetic. I’m not very good at keeping things clean. Neat I can do. It’s things like dust and hairs I’m horrible with. I think there are still hairs on my emergency break from before I last cut my hair in November. They’re pretty long and the only other people allowed in my car are members of the Aryan Brotherhood or lesbians who think they’re pixies.

 (Once Katie Holmes climbed into my car with a pixie haircut. She yelled at me to “Drive Elron Hubbard damn it!” Tom Cruise injected her with a needle and she agreed to do that Queen Latifah heist movie instead of the second Batman)

The Check Engine light is something I have come to assume needs to be flashing in order for a car to work. I was bringing my car in so often the mechanic told me years ago that it’s just something that will happen with older cars and not to worry. I was told by a teacher to tell this mechanic I was a student at the high school I went to. The mechanic’s son went to that school before dying as a freshman. Wouldn’t mentioning that I was a junior in that school make him sad? I never got a discount or anything. I did leave my student planner with the high school’s logo sitting on the passenger seat as a subtle way of relaying information. I did find a few tear drops on one of the pages. I felt so bad I didn’t mind paying $800 to have my windshield wipers replaced in order to fix my brakes.

A broken windshield is the only major thing I have had wrong with my car. Something large flew up and left a huge dent in my windshield. I was on my way to work. On a Saturday too. Then this happened. I had a man come to my apartment and fix it for me. He put duct tape on the edges to be safe. He said to take the tape off in 48 hours. I was so frightened I left it on for 2 months. The company even emailed a picture of him to me so I could know who to expect. That’s kind of weird. Am I supposed to care what my repairman looks like? If he’s a certain ethnicity should I be more weary of the job he’ll do? Safelite repair, Safelite racist.

The strangest problem I’ve been having with my car involves those racks above the car. Are they called racks? I might just be calling them racks because I’m constantly thinking about breasts. I may even post a picture of breasts below for your enjoyment! One of the notches had broken off at some point. Probably before purchasing. I’m not sure if they’re called notches either. I’ve just been thinking about belts a lot too. Anyway, what I guess happens is when I drive at highway speeds the horizontal racks go up and down. I only know this because several drivers have pulled up alongside me, pointed up, then imitated that action. Two people did it all of last year. Three people have done it this week. The yarn I used to tie it down must have only snapped off recently. That or people don’t care enough about my safety in the winter. God forbid they roll down their windows and let their heat escape.

(Chicken breasts are still breasts. Sorry if you were expecting something more satisfying)

What about your car sucks? Don’t say the air conditioner does not work. Nobody’s air conditioner works in their car. I’m convinced they were designed not to. Henry Ford enjoys the smell of sweat.