How I Became The Road’s Most Dangerous Man

Everything I’m writing here is true. I didn’t put it up on April 1st because it’s ridiculous enough to be considered a joke. But it’s not.

I used every last dime of my saved unemployment money and tax refund to buy a car. This was done out of need and optimism. Need because I was over borrowing cars from family and optimism because should I ever get a job, I’ll need to drive to it. Enter the shittiest car to ever rain down from a cloud of crap.


“A couple new tires and a paint job and you’re good to go!” he said.

I bought it from my nephew’s dad, who is a preacher and mechanic. So I not only expected a fair deal but also something that runs. For $1300, you can’t hope for anything awesome, just a piece of shit that runs. And abstinence! Because I don’t expect to ever get laid again.

The muffler is so loud, it’s like Megatron from the Transformers is chasing me. It has buttons that don’t do anything. The radio is shot. It reeks of whatever gassy/oil-ish substance that was on the mechanic’s clothes whenever he got in to test it. The roof drops rusty things on my head. Oh, and it points at me with its antennae and  laughs. That part is particularly mean.

Getting your car registered in NC is the most tedious process on the planet. I went to the DMV and got dicked around with false info. I was told I needed to do this and that and that and this. After hearing about my trials, my nephew says “Forget that. I’ll take your papers to my friend Cariah. She works there and knows what to do.” Zip zip, done. All I needed to do was get my car inspected and plated. I was beginning to think that when folks don’t know you down here, they screw you. Like out of some fucked up old movie where the cop is the garage owner’s brother and both shake you down for money. But if you know somebody…

So the Mechnicher (mechanic + preacher) tells me to go to his normal guy’s shop for inspection on April first. The “normal guy” takes one look at my car outside from behind his counter and tells me all the reasons why he can’t pass it. “But Harvey told me it would be okay,” I said. “Oh, you didn’t say you were with Harvey,” he responded, and went on to PASS me on everything without even looking at the car, ever. Ever. I didn’t even need to bring the car. The normal guy does NOT practice normal procedures.

So, I’m driving now simply because I know people. And I have the most dangerous car on the road. Fear me.


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