There is nothing I enjoy more than getting up on a Saturday at the crack o' dawn, going outside in the freezing cold, and spending a few nonproductive hours in a muffler shop waiting to get FUCKED UP THE ASS by a bunch of grease monkeys in blue overalls. And that is precisely what I did yesterday.
Perhaps I should back up a bit. BEEP BEEP BEEP BEEP! I'm sure you idiots have heard of the DyckMobile. I've mentioned it several times in the past. The DyckMobile is a 2002 Jeep Wrangler Sport with a 6-cylinder automatic transmission, full doors, and a removable soft top. Here is a photo for your enjoyment:
I love the DyckMobile with every fiber of my being, but every now and then a man feels the need for speed. But trying to speed in a Jeep is like trying to rape a hungry alligator. Actually it is nothing like trying to rape a hungry alligator, but I needed something amusing to complete my simile. Anyway, one day last summer I had an idea. "Dyckerson," I said to myself, "You are a man of means. Surely you can afford TWO vehicles!" So I decided to fulfill my need for speed by purchasing an inexpensive, older model sports car. Ladies and gentlemen, I give you the DyckMobile II:
Folks, this here is a genuine 1988 Toyota Supra vehicle...complete with Targa top, AM/FM cassette, and cruise control. A true classic, and in remarkable condition for its age. With a car like this, a man can drive like a total asshole...and I have done so with great frequency. But a few weeks ago, I had another idea. "Dyckerson," I said to myself, "What the fuck do you need with two cars? Surely there are better things you can do with your incredible riches...like purchase a media server to store your vast porn collection!"
So with great reluctance, I have decided to sell my beloved Supra. In fact, I've had a sign in the window for several weeks now...but for some reason, no one wants to buy this magnificent beast. Maybe it's because the engine sounds like a cross between a Harley Davidson and a John Deere tractor. Now I'm no rocket surgeon, but I suspect the Supra may need a new muffling device for its...you know, smoke hole.
That brings us to yesterday. So I'm sitting in the lounge area with a newspaper, barely awake but still able to fill in three letters in the Saturday crossword puzzler. The whole time I'm sitting there, I'm thinking this will cost me two hundred bucks MAX. I mean what are we talking about here?? It's just a hunk of metal that goes around the smoke hole. That can't be more than a 50 dollar item!
After waiting nearly TEN MINUTES, a man who apparently bathes in a tub full of Pennzoil emerges from the garage and calls me over.
Oily Dude: Are you the guy with the Supra?
Dyck: Yeah, is it ready yet?
Oily Dude: Umm, no. We need to see you for a moment.
This was not a good sign. I was about to get SCREWED ROYALLY. I reluctantly put down my crossword puzzler and followed Mr. Badwrench back to the garage to prepare for my ass raping. My Supra was all jacked up on some kind of hydraulic lifting apparatus. He invited me to stand under the car and observe its innards.
Oily Dude: You see this thing here?
Dyck: Yeah, I'm not blind.
Oily Dude: Well that there is your resonator, and it's covered with rust all the way from the tail pipe to the Cadillac converter.
Dyck: So? Who the fuck is gonna see it? Normally it's three centimeters off the ground.
Oily Dude: But you see them there holes? That's what's making the noise.
Dyck: OK, so spackle it up and I'll be on my way.
By this time a crowd of grease monkeys had started to gather. They were standing there scratching their heads and pointing at my prized vehicle in amusement. I was not pleased.
Oily Dude: I'm afraid we'll have to replace the whole thing.
Dyck: How much?
Oily Dude: It's a specialty part. We'll have to order it.
Dyck: How much?
Oily Dude: There's only three of 'em in the entire northern hemisphere.
Dyck: How much?
Oily Dude: We have financing available.
Dyck: CUT THE CRAP AND TELL ME HOW MUCH!!!!
Oily Dude: Seven hundred dollars.
Dyck: Excuse me, I must not have heard you correctly over the sound my ASS BEING RAPED. Did you say SEVEN HUNDRED DOLLARS??!
Oily Dude: We take Visa and Master Charge.
Now I may not know everything about cars. In fact, I know virtually nothing about cars. But SEVEN HUNDRED CLAMS to replace a fucking PIPE??! I can go in the plumbing department at Home Depot, pick up a pipe for a few bucks, and duct tape it on there myself!
So I ordered the jackass to lower my vehicle and give me back my keys. Then I threatened to sue him for emotional distress, which I very well may do if I can find an attorney who will take my case pro boner. In the meantime, my beautiful Supra is still noisy and it's still for sale. So if any shade tree mechanics out there know how I can SHUT THIS THING UP for at least a few weeks until I can sell it, then give me a shout. Or better yet, if anybody out there is interested in purchasing this fine, nearly perfect automobile, make me an offer!