It's fucking simple to rip me off.
I went to Jiffy Lube today because it had been fifty three thousand miles since my last oil change and if I know one thing about cars, it's that they love getting the shit changed out of their oil. And since I'd like my new car to outlast the fucking payments, I humor it's request for fresh nutrients. No war for oil? Save it for the sign, Betsy, my car is THIRSTAY!
Anyways, I pull up to the garage and Johnny P. Snatchycash comes to take down my info. He first offers me synthetic oil instead of regular oil. Synthetic oil is made of some sort of magic that lets you drive millions of miles before you need to change your oil again since it's made out of scepters and pixie dust. I refused, mostly because I hate magic and still believe in the trusty power of good old all American black Exxon oil... although the image of the Valdez oil tanker spilling thousands of tons of scepters on the Alaskan shoreline would have been COMEDY GOLD!
After punching my license plate into his computer, Johnny tells me the list of shit that my car needs to have installed. "Your car is the worst in carbon buildup, so you need a fuel regulator pump resevoir valve lubrication job every 7 miles, and it's been 34,000 since you last did it." What the fuck is a fuel regulator pump? How does one "lubricate" it? (yeah, I laughed too). As far as I'm concerned, my car doesn't need any special bells and whistles to eat gas. Then he said something about a transmission fluid, and then laughed when I said my car was an automatic.
If I lubricated every seven miles people would call me a fucking sicko.
Two minutes later I was nodding my head in agreement when he suggested they install a $40 pair of hanging dice from my rearview mirror. "Ain't no question 'bout it my friend - cars run better with dice." I'm a fucking sucker. If he would have told me my car needed it's diaper changed and a good backrub I would have agreed.
I hate mechanics.
By the end of the 22nd century, I think we will have established small colonies on Mars. Communities of scientists will live there for several years on end conducting research in large oxygenated compounds. Far away from the trite terretorial problems of the 21st century, these researchers will live in peace and harmony working for the betterment of mankind. Eventually it will be discovered that Mars is rich in ores and minerals desperately needed on Earth, and small mining communities - and then large ones - will begin to develop. Soon, Mars will be important enough to have full time inhabitants. Constant development and world unity will strengthen as Mars - no - Earth2 becomes an asset for the benefit of all civilization. Enormous tractors will unearth rare precious metals and valuable iron ores, sent in unmanned shuttles back to Earth for use in disease prevention and teddy bear manufacturing. And every 3,000 miles, these tractors will have to be serviced by some lying asshole.
Back on Earth, and thirty minutes later, I paid my bill of forty one thousand dollars and drove off into the gayest sunset ever. Mars was in Pisces, and as a Virgo, that really pisses me off.
Anyways, I pull up to the garage and Johnny P. Snatchycash comes to take down my info. He first offers me synthetic oil instead of regular oil. Synthetic oil is made of some sort of magic that lets you drive millions of miles before you need to change your oil again since it's made out of scepters and pixie dust. I refused, mostly because I hate magic and still believe in the trusty power of good old all American black Exxon oil... although the image of the Valdez oil tanker spilling thousands of tons of scepters on the Alaskan shoreline would have been COMEDY GOLD!
After punching my license plate into his computer, Johnny tells me the list of shit that my car needs to have installed. "Your car is the worst in carbon buildup, so you need a fuel regulator pump resevoir valve lubrication job every 7 miles, and it's been 34,000 since you last did it." What the fuck is a fuel regulator pump? How does one "lubricate" it? (yeah, I laughed too). As far as I'm concerned, my car doesn't need any special bells and whistles to eat gas. Then he said something about a transmission fluid, and then laughed when I said my car was an automatic.
If I lubricated every seven miles people would call me a fucking sicko.
Two minutes later I was nodding my head in agreement when he suggested they install a $40 pair of hanging dice from my rearview mirror. "Ain't no question 'bout it my friend - cars run better with dice." I'm a fucking sucker. If he would have told me my car needed it's diaper changed and a good backrub I would have agreed.
I hate mechanics.
By the end of the 22nd century, I think we will have established small colonies on Mars. Communities of scientists will live there for several years on end conducting research in large oxygenated compounds. Far away from the trite terretorial problems of the 21st century, these researchers will live in peace and harmony working for the betterment of mankind. Eventually it will be discovered that Mars is rich in ores and minerals desperately needed on Earth, and small mining communities - and then large ones - will begin to develop. Soon, Mars will be important enough to have full time inhabitants. Constant development and world unity will strengthen as Mars - no - Earth2 becomes an asset for the benefit of all civilization. Enormous tractors will unearth rare precious metals and valuable iron ores, sent in unmanned shuttles back to Earth for use in disease prevention and teddy bear manufacturing. And every 3,000 miles, these tractors will have to be serviced by some lying asshole.
Back on Earth, and thirty minutes later, I paid my bill of forty one thousand dollars and drove off into the gayest sunset ever. Mars was in Pisces, and as a Virgo, that really pisses me off.
posted by Comedy Mark @ 4:57 PM
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