why we should be your chauffeur:
I want to reconnect with a piece of s*&t car. I am one of four children and I outweigh my 3 sisters combined. They used to try to make me play barbies. At times, I was sadly forced to give in. My youth was full of estrogen, and I wanted to break out. Enter "El Macho." When I turned 16 I got my drivers license and keys to a POS Emerald Green 1995 Plymouth Voyager. That's where the fun began. Within a year, the transmission died for the 3rd time in the car's life. We got a new one, only to have the check engine light go on, and stay on, everytime I drove. Scary, but I got used to it. A few months later I noticed the gas gauge was acting funny, so I hit the dashboard. it worked for a little while before going completely haywire. Furthermore, the tape player would make a high-pitched screetching noise when a tape was inserted, making cd playing complicated. What was my solution? hitting the damn thing. For three years I hit the dashboard to make the screetching stop. One day, I was enraged and hit the tape player so hard the entire dash exploded while I was driving. FUn. These things weren't life-threatening, only inconvenient. Plus, El Macho was earning the reputation as a beast that, despite all its problems, just wouldn't quit. Soon, more stuff started to go wrong, and it felt oooooooo so right. The back hatch to the van fell off while I was driving. I couldn't explain it. I had to bungee cord the hatch inside the back of the van and then explain to my friends how the van survived yet another brush with death. Now, along came the speeding tickets. It's hard to judge how fast you're going when the speedometer goes up to 85, but I was clocked by the cop going 104. I told him I was going to church and he let me go. 3 more 90+ speeding tickets later (all three by siblings), that car was still running at a Daytona level. One day, during school, I had to hurry to my car because I forgot my homework in it. I rushed and slammed the sliding door so hard that the thing came off in my hand. I had to duct tape the thing back on in order to get it to a shop to be fixed. I forgot to mention that my car was possessed. Every time one'd drive in it, the lights would flicker on and off and the automatic locks would fire, freaking out unknowing passengers. I was also the chauffer to wrestling practice, stuffing upwards of 20 people in the van on the way to the off-campus site, engaged in drive-by Moonings by the front seat passenger the whole way. We finally stopped doing the moonings when the front-seater was propositioned by a homosexual male at a stoplight. Right before I left for college, 2 big things happened. First, my car hit 300,000 miles. I threw a party at my house and my friends brought over gifts for my car. The best gift was the stripper, who actually gave my car a lap-dance. No, my car did not rape her, he did not go to Duke. SEcond, my car got hotwired from in front of my house. THis was the saddest day of my life until this point. I just found that my long-lost twin brother had been kidnapped. Worst of all, my prissy sisters were happy he was gone because he was "too broken." I looked around and around for the thing, putting up Missing Persons flyers around the neighborhood. A coupla days later the car was found, and I could be happy again!--though my sisters couldn't. Anyway, I left for college and told my brother goodbye, leaving him in the clutches of my evil sisters. He survived the first year I was gone, barely. This past year has been the touhgest for him. My youngest sister has deep hatred for my brother, El Macho, and exacted it by getting into 4 separate car accidents. The fourth, and final, was successful. She cause 200 dollars of damage to the bumper, and he was declared "totaled" just last month. I can never forgive my sister for what she did to my brother. He died with over 350,000 miles on him. I still believe that car ran on pure love, baby. I don't know how it survived all that crap. I never got a chance to say goodbye to my brother before he was donated to charity. I want to ride in El Tio to experience, one last time, what it was like to have a brother. I hope the car backfires. I hope the engine explodes on the freeway (and insurance covers it or something). I hope someone steals it (and you get it back unharmed, of course.) I hope my lifespan is shortened because of the toxic fumes I inhale. Nothing can bring my brother back to me, but riding El Tio will at least bring closure to my relationship with El Macho. I hope he's smiling down on my from car heaven. Oh yeah, I'll (jokingly) kill the winner should I not be picked. Please let me say goodbye to my brother. El Macho Forever -- 2006-05-04 21:47:27
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