I am a pillar of sorrow!

Don't worry. Nobody dies in this story.  Well that's not true but the people dying aren't the point.

The week started off great.  Vacation at the lake.  But then an uncle on my wife's side dies.  Then his wive dies like 2 days later.  Then my friend's father in Vegas dies.  Left the lake house a little early to make it to the funeral.  I had choice about his to get there.  I chose the most irresponsible, my 20 year old sports car. 

The trip to Vegas went well.  The trip back did not.  Half way through the power train suffered a catastrophic failure.  The transmission died.  Along with the cooling system.  Probably the cylinder heads.  This is in addition to a long overdue timing belt change, a failing steering rack, an airbag recall(something about shooting me in the face with metal shards in the event of an accident), a randomly freezing srs system.  The car has a blue book of like $400. In short if this cant' be fixed with duct tape then I'm going to sell it to the junkyard.

Now I'm stuck in Beaver Utah waiting to get a professional's opinion but I'm pretty sure he's not going to be able to fix it with duct tape.

I am now very irritated at the inconvenience of this all.  I'm having these strange emotions.  It's been around so long and I've taken apart and reassembled it so many times that I have this surprisingly emotional connection to it now.  It's like being forced to shoot my dog.

Perhaps you could channel your disappointment, sorrow and rage into following on from the famous son of Beaver, Butch Cassidy, rob some banks, go on the lam to south America just don’t die in a shootout, avoid Bolivia.

I recommend taking that unreliable POS to the scrap yard and watch as it gets crushed into a cube (so you get closure)

Lol a couple days ago I was on a trip to the beach with my family, and on the way back what seemed like smoke started coming out of the car. Dad was driving, and as he rushed out of the car he only pulled the handbrake without putting on a gear (idk if that expression is right in English). Except the car is heavy and older than me and the handbrake doesn't work too well on its own, and it started crawling backwards, hitting the car behind.

It turns out the "smoke" was just steam, because some pipe broke and we had a coolant leak, which then boiled on the engine. Nothing serious. Also because it was moving slowly as it was sliding, it didn't cause a very big damage to the car behind, while our car was undamaged. Now the really dumb thing is that the insurance company of the woman whose car we hit was insisting the police HAD to come and write down the incident. Idk why, like, there was nothing they could add, we said it was our fault, and our insurance company did not ask for the police to come, so it definitely isn't mandatory, nor have I ever encountered another case where the insurance company insists on that. This meant we had to wait 1-2 hours just for the cops to show up, because that's how fast they usually are.

The kicker though is that it turns out my dad's driver license had expired and he didn't even know. Driver's licenses used to expire after 75, so he though he was alright, but it turns out the law was changed and now they expire after 60. So when the cops showed up and asked for everyone's licenses they saw it was expired, so they took it and left him without a license. The ministry of transport is slow enough usually but now it's summer, plus COVID has disoriented every public service, and as a result he's gonna be without a license for AT LEAST a month. This affects me, because my mother doesn't drive generally (she has a license but she hasn't driven for a really long time, she's kinda scared of driving), so basically my parents have no one to drive them around except for me, which means I am playing chauffeur for the next month at least... The other result is that I can't go anywhere for vacation because then they will be left without means of transport.

Perhaps you could channel your disappointment, sorrow and rage into following on from the famous son of Beaver, Butch Cassidy, rob some banks, go on the lam to south America just don’t die in a shootout, avoid Bolivia.

This shall be the theme song for Crouton's adventure.

Quote from: Jura-Glenlivet II on August 10, 2020, 01:16:08 AM

Perhaps you could channel your disappointment, sorrow and rage into following on from the famous son of Beaver, Butch Cassidy, rob some banks, go on the lam to south America just don’t die in a shootout, avoid Bolivia.

This shall be the theme song for Crouton's adventure.

Lol I love these songs but more than the songs I love the videos.

Don't drive junkers through the deserts.

Don't drive junkers through the deserts.

I am a victim of my own hubris. 

To make matters worse these fascists won't even allow me to send my car to the afterlife in a pyre of it's remaining gasoline!

To make matters worse these fascists won't even allow me to send my car to the afterlife in a pyre of it's remaining gasoline!

Who says that you need their permission?

Quote from: Jura-Glenlivet II on August 10, 2020, 01:16:08 AM

Perhaps you could channel your disappointment, sorrow and rage into following on from the famous son of Beaver, Butch Cassidy, rob some banks, go on the lam to south America just don’t die in a shootout, avoid Bolivia.

This shall be the theme song for Crouton's adventure.

Take this song as a gift from Spacey, take Markjo's permissions, take the spirit of Butch and burn the car and head for the hole in the wall, we will be with you in spirit. (As there's no way I'm coming to your sick country at this time)

Quote from: hoppy on August 10, 2020, 12:56:30 PM

Don't drive junkers through the deserts.

I am a victim of my own hubris. 

To make matters worse these fascists won't even allow me to send my car to the afterlife in a pyre of it's remaining gasoline!

Gather up a gallon of 95ºbaum Ammonia and a quart jar of Iodine Crystals.
We can turn your vehicle into a cloud of purple smoke.   

 

On the road to healing.

Severe back pain popped up a few days after I left my car. Perhaps it was hiking a mile with 125 pounds of parts on my back. Perhaps it's a side effect of missing a part of my soul.

I have cured it with the traditional medicines of my people. Alcohol, pain killers, muscle relaxers, sleeping pills and the entire second season of umbrella academy.

Feeling much better physically. Folk medicine really is effective.

You say it was a sports car, I need to envision this car to help with your pain, make and year will do, although a picture of one on fire would be better.

Maybe it looked something like this?

Unfortunately I can't say exactly what the car was.  They didn't sell a whole lot of them so it would be an unacceptable risk to my anonymity.  But here's the closest approximation.



Something very boring looking but also very fast.

Something very boring looking but also very fast.

If it's very boring looking, then it isn't a sports car, regardless of how fast it can go.

My missus had a 3 series variant, a rocket sled in the dry, complete bastard when it snowed.

Here are two incidents that make me sound insane.

I had a dream where I was hanging out with an old lady who happened to own the same car I used to.

Looking for a movie to watch to go to sleep I picked eternal sunshine of the spotless mind. It's notable because I haven't seen the movie in 12 years. Great movie but it's just not something i have an urge to watch since I'm in a happy marriage. This movie is bringing up some feels. Regardless though.

Conclusion; I had some kind of quasi rantic relationship with my car.

Remedy: this may sound extreme but I feel it's the only way to get closure.  I must go to the junkuard and fuck my old car. Only then can let it go.

Conclusion; I had some kind of quasi rantic relationship with my car.

Remedy: this may sound extreme but I feel it's the only way to get closure.  I must go to the junkuard and fuck my old car. Only then can let it go.

This has the hallmarks of false idolatry, the natural culmination of the American dream, worship of the divine being supplanted by tall white gods, standing slack mouthed before ranks of glass fronted altars, full of more flavours of sacred ice cream than species left on the planet, your necroautophilia the unnatural union between the sacred car and its grieving slave, vain invocation to the Cybertronian autobots, you worshipped as children.
   
The great orange toad, master of lies, stands laughing atop his gilded tower, Hoppy will be pleased.

Quote from: Crouton on September 08, 2020, 12:43:34 AM

Conclusion; I had some kind of quasi rantic relationship with my car.

Remedy: this may sound extreme but I feel it's the only way to get closure.  I must go to the junkuard and fuck my old car. Only then can let it go.

This has the hallmarks of false idolatry, the natural culmination of the American dream, worship of the divine being supplanted by tall white gods, standing slack mouthed before ranks of glass fronted altars, full of more flavours of sacred ice cream than species left on the planet, your necroautophilia the unnatural union between the sacred car and its grieving slave, vain invocation to the Cybertronian autobots, you worshipped as children.
   
The great orange toad, master of lies, stands laughing atop his gilded tower, Hoppy will be pleased.

You can't understand our love!  It's okay.  The world can never understand a love as pure as ours.  Like Romeo and Optimus Prime.

We shall be together again like in star trek the motion picture.



I'm almost positive that a guy wanting to fuck his broken car is the backbone of that story.