I was in the thirteenth year of my first life when Mother borrowed a chunk of skrill for an auto loan. She bought a midnight blue Subaru Legacy with zero upgrades. That’s right. No seat warmers, no spoiler, no window tint, no CD changer/player, no seat belts or headlights (just stickers). Bare bones. Mother thought that it would increase gas mileage and it did. She could drive thirty American miles on a single gallon of petrol.
We were so proud. She was so proud. It was the first car that she’d bought all by herself since women were allowed to own property in the late eighties. She cruised town in it. She carted the family around. She sold her body for sex to make the payments. It was the car I learned to drive with. I passed my driver’s license test while it was parked outside the DMV in the parking lot.
Eventually, Mother paid off the loan and the Blubaru became hers. After several years of precise maintenance and tune-ups, she parted with the vehicle and gifted it to me unofficially. I started driving it in college to see my girlfriend in the next town over at the all-girl middle school. I’d buy her cigarettes and beer in that car. It got so beat up in a hail storm that it was totaled due to cosmetic damage (you should’ve seen the other guy).
Mother finally signed the title over to me in 2008. I finalized the transfer of ownership just last week. That’s because the Blubaru was in an accident last week and totaled for the second time. This time, indefinitely. Luckily no one was hurt…just my fifteen-year-old junker. I signed the title over to car recyclers and collected a hefty sum of $150. Not a bad racket considering the faded memories the Blubaru gave me.
3===) · · ·· O-: (FYI – that graphic display represents a winker and his hot bod with all that c*ck, balls and a sh*t ton of c*m about to hit that pretty little number’s O-face). I’m looking for two things. The first is hot girls. I’m just perusing the street driving public and all of their assets. First and foremost, I am attracted to nice hair. Shiny, yes. Long, yes. Slightly curly, God yes. The best part of the hair is it often times cascades down the body inadvertently pointing to other delectable treats such as the neck, chest, breast, and sometimes abs, buns, and legs. A great head of hair and a hot set of chest blossoms is the luxury model I want to see on the road. It’s usually marked by something flowery hanging from the rear view mirror; usually a flower. Oh, unless it’s hanging from a minivan. Forget it. Usually, it’s some chicks ugly step dad. Which brings me to the second thing. I’m looking for some punk dude that’s younger, older, smaller, dumber-looking, worse car, and/or smug that I could kick the sh@t out of. I’ll tell you that I’m going to stare that @sshole down until he looks over and then I’m going to look away quickly. If I’d stare longer we might have fisticuffs. He does not want that. Actually, if it ever came down to that, I’m not going to do that because I can’t fight (I’m a bit of a screamer). But if I did fight, maybe one of those pretty little ladies with the lai in the windshield might just stop and ask if she can dissolve the conflict with her nipple tits. This would be the point when I get out my insurance information and check book. Lady, you can take anything you want. People are so great.
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