Here’s a picture of my exact car but some lucky dude owns it instead of me.

Ok. Sure. I’m crazy.

I know it.

Just like more than a few of you heard on our last show #254, there are more than a few things that can cause my eyes to not function and my left arm to tingle and go numb. (I’m mostly kidding about that. I do have a bit of temper and have been known to yell, plus my pits produce copious amounts of moisture.) With that said, keeping my vehicles in perfect working order is nothing more than a combination of my genetics and a long standing unwritten rule that my Father instilled in me. “If you keep your car nice you will eventually be able to sell it again when you’d like to upgrade to something different.” Fuck. I can hear my Father telling me that as the ice rattled around in his rocks glass. This went for cars, trucks, motorcycles, scooters, bikes and lawn care implements. Everything. This was also countered by the fact that when I had matured to a level of legal driving age, that I was going to be the one that worked and saved up enough money for my first car. No fucking handout. No, “We’ll buy you one and you can buy the rest.” No fat chicks. (He never said that but I just thought it sounded good in the cartoon voice of my Father rattling around in my head as a write this.) $1,690 bucks. (I’m still a little resentful that my Mom and Dad never chipped in the extra money to make it an even $1,700 but I guess that ship has long sailed.)

She was a 1982 Volkswagen Rabbit convertible. Cherry man. Real fucking cherry.

She started out almost primer gray but had a fantastic body with no dings and little to zero rust. After a few soccer linesman jobs for the Parks and Rec Department, planting fern in Pierson, Florida (the Fern capital of the world) and a little bit of “funny-money” from my Grandfather, I was finally able to get her painted. Remember Macco? I think they’re still even around. I marched right down there and paid to get the entire thing painted properly. What is proper at Macco, you might ask? Well, I wasn’t OK with going down there and just getting the car painted for $99 bucks. That would have been the exact opposite of the aforementioned term “proper.” I made sure to save up enough to get the under-hood, under-trunk lid, and door jams all painted. I even inspected them the day the job was complete and had them re-spray them because they had left a little touch of gray. Assholes.

Crazy?

Maybe. But this was obviously the beginning of my madness. From that point on, it has always been important for me to keep a properly cleaned and pleasant smelling car. I try to NEVER eat in my car. All bottles of soda must have a top. All cups must have a lid. If your shoes are muddy or gross, take them off and put them in the trunk. Oh, and no fat chicks. Kidding.

Talk with you kids later!

dan