Death of a Truck: Unexpected Epilogue

I woke up to find that I had drunkenly typed this out without posting it sometime this morning. It has nothing to do with the truck, but has everything to do with the new car. Enjoy!


Tonight was going to be a good night. I was in a good mood and heading out my regular Thursday night place, The 04 Lounge, because the bartenders that work tonight demanded my presence (with the punishment of banishment if I did not show). I prepared myself to head to my drinking establishment and behold them with the glory of Goodwin.

I'm in a good mood. Fresh out of the shower, washing the last remnants of the previous night's hangover away, I ate a small dinner to alleviate the effects of the booze I would consume. I hop in my car (that I have officially owned a week) and head to the store for some smokes, as I had run low the previous night. Spirits were high. I hop out of my car and close my door and. . .

There is a scratch. On my driver's side. A mere prologue to the blemish exists on my fender, which leads into an epic scar that spans both doors on the vehicle's sinister side. I press my face close to the body, ever alert for places where the paneling was dented. None. Nobody had struck or scraped my week-old automobile with their own device of transport.

Some fucking lowlife had KEYED MY GOD DAMN CAR. INTENTIONALLY.

My stomach immediately filled with bile and blood. I swallowed down hate-vomit. Inhale, exhale, deep breaths. I went in, ordered my smokes and a liter of water, ignoring what I saw, hoping it was just my mind playing tricks on me.

I walk outside. I see the mark, tinted red from rage. My chest hurts, and I want to murder everything in my sight. My existence is nothing but a ball of hate, ready to consume those in my path.


I got over it. I have things in place to take care of minor exterior imperfections that may occur during my time with my vehicle. That I've owned for 7 days. That someone scratched with a key.

There is no way to find out who did it. No way to determine where it happened, when it happened. But the guilty party is lucky. Because if I do find out, I will thrust my hand into their chest and wear their heart as a bracelet, before I tear out their spine and shred their heart with jagged bone, as I spit acid into their eyes, and swear to murder everything they ever loved as their life slowly runs out in my hands.


I'm also playing Mass Effect 2 for the first time. It's a lot of fun. :-)

Death of a Truck: Part 2

Took the truck home Monday. Dropped it at the mechanic. Decided to talk to my folks about upgrading my ride so that we don't have to spend every summer making it run for one more year.

After some test-drives, I was able to walk away from the truck and get this guy:

2008 Honda CRV EX-L. 18000 miles on it, 1 previous owner.

I'll miss the truck immensely. Especially the stereo. But I'll get over it.

Now I don't have to move anybody's damn couches ever again.

The truck still exists, but I signed the title over to my Dad, who's thinking about keeping it anyway (nobody will buy it).

As for what was wrong with it? The magnet inside the distributor was broken, and the spark plugs were crummy. There you go.