I've been really irritated with my vehicle recently. I love the Saab. I love driving her around town, I take care of her. I feel like a rock star inside her, but the universe keeps throwing bits of Saab irritation my way. I decided that she needed some good discipline, so I got the whip out. I'm tired of her transmission acting up on me. I want smooth lubricated shifting baby. None of this stickiness. None of this, I don't want to go into first because I'm too hot. None of this transmission adjustment now that I've spent another $1200+ on your sleek black foxy ass. No, I bought you to pimp you out and drive around with your top down in Los Angeles booming some Daft Punk down Sunset on a late Friday night. I did not buy you to hang out and write business plans in my mechanic's office.
Get with it or we're going to have some serious discipline sessions. Yes, that is a jar of mayonaise.
Wow. the feelings around the gunshot being a harbinger for major change might just mean you're ready for a nice reliable car. A car that's all about servicing YOU, not some self-obsessed nordic brat demanding excessive amounts of service. But really, you gotta call the cops when that shit happens, that's the only way they'll eventually start shooing the gangstas outta there.
I used to live in a similar area, 7th and Ave. D in NYC,1994, and wasn't scared until I was ready to leave. One day, while walking past the dealers on my way home, I suddenly wondered when there might be some shootout and would I get caught in the crossfire? But I was already on my way out by then. If enough pretty young ladies complain, especially if they stop by the precint in their favorite corset, I think the police will get very motivated. Men are funny that way. Take advantage of it.
Posted by: pinky the first | June 27, 2005 at 09:51 PM
I wish I was a Saab :)
Posted by: Chad | June 28, 2005 at 01:23 AM