I am the car slayer

This has been a crazy week- Starting with last weekend, full details of which aren't even worth getting into, since I can fill a few pages just retelling my car mis-adventures. (At least part of that craziness involved a Detroit Goth Club that made Marylin Manson videos look like "Fluffy McSoftyness' Sunshine Hay Ride Through Smiley-way.")

This story begins Saturday while driving down a side street, on my way to the coffee shop (my most benign destination of the weekend), when some yahoo backed hap-haphazardly out of his parking spot and quite skillfully into my front fender. (see below)

His shitty Ford Torus was, of course, undamaged. "I can't believe how bad that sounded" are not the words to introduce yourself when I'm trying to force my door open, extraditing myself from a mangled car. Lesson of the night: Allen Park cops are still Dicks.

This event set in motion an avalanche of logistical nightmares including phone calls, high dollar amount checks and a HUGE assortment of "can i get a ride?" to and from various places to opick up or drop off extra vehicles. It started with my parent's cherry red Plymouth Sundance, which was to be my mode of transportation for the interim. Car number 2 made it to and from work once, when attempting to start it, a huge cloud of white, sweet smelling smoke poured from the back end... mmmm... smells like head gasket. I pushed my luck, driving it to the first appointment of the day, but decided to cut home early based on the amount of antifreeze that was disappearing into the atmosphere. Lesson learned: a blown head gasket is mostly drivable, assuming you can start it with all that fluid in the cylinder... just don't turn it off.

This afternoon i used a 1/2 personal day trying to track down a rental car for the rest of the week- who knew that unreserved rentals are so damn hard to come by? I'm talking a dozen places called, at least, with no luck. I finally tracked down a bright blue dodge charger with a tiny engine and styling that make me feel like a pimp.

In the mean time, through another crazy, hard to explain round of randomness, i found a guy who lives just down the road from me who can weld up my Fiat intake manifold, eliminating the exhaust crossover and coolant paths. (We'll call the dead Fiat car number 3) Lesson learned: Talk to the old guys, they know a guy.

So here's to car number 4: Lucky blue charger.

In unrelated news, this guy is creepy. Not sos much because he poses as a 12 yr old kid and hangs out at skate parks (he could have seen that on a movie) but more because he lives in a trailer with 3 old men/convicted pedophiles and has sex with them while scheming ways to dupe kids into doing the same.

Also, this is what i think of the super bowl. (thanks Skelert)