It has been my habit, for long enough now as to call it always, to go third party, in many senses. Those who would have a point with doubted validity often find me in camp with them. In the states this means for me many things; anti-war, public healthcare, P.G. Wodehouse, etc.
But on an international level, one that supersedes boundaries to encompass all mankind, I play devil's advocate on basic moral and philosophical issues- Arguing for a lack of absolutes in good, evil, truth, lie, yada yada yada.
And I own a 1979 FIAT Spider.
Never could a car have been made to better suit this ner'failing watchdog type. The beast illustrates almost every personality trait I have even glanced over the thought of having, and does so with surprisingly little inference. For Instance:
She's just pretty enough so that any unfavorable aestethic can be blamed on the need for a new paint job, this is a brilliant imperfection as it delays any to all criticism of her form.
She has no mirror on the right side, and the rearview is cracked. This makes her sense of the past, especially short term, very unsteady.
Her speedometer has expectations and maximums that surely could never come to pass unless some drastic change is made in the fabric of reality, physics.
She has earned this nickname of Fix It Again Tony, and despite my most viament defence of her, and claims of this as overstatement, she falters time and time again and proves stereotypes, while not nessesarily all encompassing, certainly come from a seed of truth.
Her passengers side door should probably be thrown out. Maybe even replaced eventually, but certainly thrown out. The outside handle is broken, cigarette window stuck and the window roller has simply ceased to be.
I wouldn't believe for a minute that the interior is actually leather, but whatever it is, it cracks in a way that any leather I have seen would be quite impressed with.
And yet with all of this, I beg you, the reader to keep quiet. If you too own a vehicle such as this, then nod slightly, glance around, and remove yourself from this work. Because no one can know. When I finish this, I will get up with a smile on my face and walk to the car, hoping it will start, burying the evidence of my malcontention deep inside of me.
For someone has to defend them, even if they are guilty. And you and I are tried with this duty my friend. I'm sorry you've been brought into this now too, but eventually you'll learn to like it.
When people try to race you, you will take on an air of superiority as if to say that your car can't waste it's time with a Porsche.
You will begin to take the sound of a jetski out of water as a sign of just how damn powerful your vehicle really is.
And when you can't get the thing into reverse, or first, or second, or... you get the idea, you'll soon begin to know, that it's your fault, that the request was simply a silly one.
Spread the gospel my kin, despite it's ultimate failing, spread the gospel.