My Car is a Piece of ShitSubmitted by ASO at 2004-11-13 21:34:51 EST
Rating: 1.57 on 20 ratings (20 reviews) (Review this item) (V)
I’m sitting here writing this on the side of Intersate 55 in Illinois in my broken down shitbox. It used to be a fully up-and-running shitbox, until about twenty minutes ago.
My shitbox is old. It’s a Lumina, but I don’t know from what year. Like 1844. It’s old. It has 147,306.5 miles on it right now. It has no dashboard because my sister left it unlocked in Chicago two years ago and somehow the tape deck got ripped out. You believe that? Chicago is filled with shitty cars, but this is nothing more, in comparison to them, than…a Lumina. I don’t know what attracted thieves to my Lumina’s tape deck. I wonder how much they sold it for?
I am in a new dimension of pissed off right now. I have 25 dollars’ worth of gas in this baby, but I’m probably about to junk it.
My dad also is going to have to drive all the way down here (give him two hours) and then back up (two more). I’m going to fucking miss Saturday morning football. I’m going to miss the Badgers beating up on Michigan State. [Afternote: FUCK!]
When he gets here, I’m sure he’ll yell at me. “Why the fuck didn’t you check the oil??!?!?” he will point out. “What did you do to this car to fuck it up??! It was running fine when it got you down to school11!!!!~”
Well, maybe this pile of carbage died because it had a stroke or a fucking brain aneurism or something. I don’t know. I don’t know much about cars. I haven’t even opened the hood up. I’m rather sure it hasn’t overheated because the temperature outside is like one degrees. The place behind the steering wheel that says what the fuck is wrong mith my car tells me I have: ENGINE SERVICE SOON, an oil can, TEMP, SEAT BELTS, VOLTS, and BRAKES.
So I’ve been sitting here for a good half hour now and I have seen no cops, coming or going. When I was driving a million miles per hour a little while ago I saw four on the road with me. It’s not that I want to see cops now. I don’t need one to help me. I don’t want him to see the two empty beer cans on the floor next to me either. It’s just that I would rather see them now while I’m going fucking nowhere than when I’m 50 miles per hour over the speed limit. I think it was 50. I’m guessing I was going 105 because the speedometer only measures up to 85 mph. Except the needle was pointing down.
My laptop is about to die. I’m going to sleep.