Friday, December 30, 2005
2005 Is Gone…and So Is My Car
The Chinese curse goes “May you live in interesting times.” Yes CURSE, not truism, not blessing.
Despite the turbulence of aught-five, it was pretty good. The dude abides and all that. And I like me some good old fashioned chaos every now and then. Everything was cool in the motor pool.
Until now. Yes, my car was stolen. Joke’s on them though, it’s an unsafe death trap. I don’t wish ill on any humans, but I really wouldn’t mind if my car killed them in a weird Maximum Overdrive sense. Or that other Stephen King Movie about the car that murdered people, Carrie or Christine, I forget. Note I didn’t say ‘Stephen King’ book because Stephen King books are kind of unreadable…no matter what anybody says, his movies are better. But I digress. You would too if you were preoccupied with this.
You want to know the maudlin part? I had some Christmas presents in the car that I got from some people. (As opposed to a marmoset presents. Them's some pretty generous animules though.) And I had some of the “rockford: Small City” Pictures in there too. So, now my art has taken me to a new place. Yet another group, I have yet to join until now. The artists I know who have had shit stolen from them. Yay me. Fuck it. They’re digital. I can make more in two ticks.
To top it off the prop known as the Auto-suck was in the trunk. May you live in interesting times.
And I’m shaken enough to do the unthinkable. I’m shall break cannon.
And reveal how my car is known as the “Chitlin Mobile.” And indeed how chitlins have come to loom so large in the legend. It was my orignal plan never to tell. Just drop reffs in a vacuum. For, after all:
There are things mankind are not meant to know. (Notice 1. my British use of the collective noun ‘mankind’ and 2. The accidental use of antiquated, sexist language. I don’t care. I just got my fuckin’ car stolen.) For instance, SSG is forbidden from telling me what the deal is with rib meat. (But true to my prediction, I have started calling people that; look at the last frame of
.) And, I’ll never tell you folk what the story is behind the secret workings of the rice cooker. You have my word. But in honor of my departed car, here we go (spoiler alert):
It actually starts with my previous car. The Mustang. The muffler fell off, but in such a way that it also unraveled. In essence, a flat-ish piece off sheet metal leaned forward and scraped the road. As the horrific shocks (that most likely helped the muffler get fucked) bounced along merrily, and with a strangely cohesive pattern, I thought I heard something special. Order from chaos…I told you that I loved chaos. And it may have been the jaunty rhythm, or the carbon monoxide flooding the cabin, but I imagined a tune. A folksy number. And sure as shootin’, it sounded like a washboard…
And that tune needed lyrics, and if by a CO induces dream (that’s carbon monoxide, not Colorado—though that’s nice too), the lyrics just popped into my mind.
Chitlins, Chitlins!
Red-hot Chitlins,
Chitlins, Chitlins,
Ain’t them good?
So, the Mustang became the Chitlin Mobile. And after the muffler fell off my LeSabre, it was the chitlin mobile Mark II. You know I had a damn LeSabre when I was in high school too. (I don’t love the cars—just the way luck had it), and the mufflers fell off that too. But, it was cool. I had the muffler suspended with the finest, well-crafted coat hanger.
I didn’t say it was a good story.
The positive: it would be well nigh impossible for me to get a DUI this New Year’s Eve. Though I guess things could take a turn for the chaotic.
Epilogue: as I type this out in Word, I notice that there is a squiggly under “LeSabre.” I could add it to the custom dictionary, but what’s the point?
Despite the turbulence of aught-five, it was pretty good. The dude abides and all that. And I like me some good old fashioned chaos every now and then. Everything was cool in the motor pool.
Until now. Yes, my car was stolen. Joke’s on them though, it’s an unsafe death trap. I don’t wish ill on any humans, but I really wouldn’t mind if my car killed them in a weird Maximum Overdrive sense. Or that other Stephen King Movie about the car that murdered people, Carrie or Christine, I forget. Note I didn’t say ‘Stephen King’ book because Stephen King books are kind of unreadable…no matter what anybody says, his movies are better. But I digress. You would too if you were preoccupied with this.
You want to know the maudlin part? I had some Christmas presents in the car that I got from some people. (As opposed to a marmoset presents. Them's some pretty generous animules though.) And I had some of the “rockford: Small City” Pictures in there too. So, now my art has taken me to a new place. Yet another group, I have yet to join until now. The artists I know who have had shit stolen from them. Yay me. Fuck it. They’re digital. I can make more in two ticks.
To top it off the prop known as the Auto-suck was in the trunk. May you live in interesting times.
And I’m shaken enough to do the unthinkable. I’m shall break cannon.
And reveal how my car is known as the “Chitlin Mobile.” And indeed how chitlins have come to loom so large in the legend. It was my orignal plan never to tell. Just drop reffs in a vacuum. For, after all:
There are things mankind are not meant to know. (Notice 1. my British use of the collective noun ‘mankind’ and 2. The accidental use of antiquated, sexist language. I don’t care. I just got my fuckin’ car stolen.) For instance, SSG is forbidden from telling me what the deal is with rib meat. (But true to my prediction, I have started calling people that; look at the last frame of
.) And, I’ll never tell you folk what the story is behind the secret workings of the rice cooker. You have my word. But in honor of my departed car, here we go (spoiler alert):It actually starts with my previous car. The Mustang. The muffler fell off, but in such a way that it also unraveled. In essence, a flat-ish piece off sheet metal leaned forward and scraped the road. As the horrific shocks (that most likely helped the muffler get fucked) bounced along merrily, and with a strangely cohesive pattern, I thought I heard something special. Order from chaos…I told you that I loved chaos. And it may have been the jaunty rhythm, or the carbon monoxide flooding the cabin, but I imagined a tune. A folksy number. And sure as shootin’, it sounded like a washboard…
And that tune needed lyrics, and if by a CO induces dream (that’s carbon monoxide, not Colorado—though that’s nice too), the lyrics just popped into my mind.
Chitlins, Chitlins!
Red-hot Chitlins,
Chitlins, Chitlins,
Ain’t them good?
So, the Mustang became the Chitlin Mobile. And after the muffler fell off my LeSabre, it was the chitlin mobile Mark II. You know I had a damn LeSabre when I was in high school too. (I don’t love the cars—just the way luck had it), and the mufflers fell off that too. But, it was cool. I had the muffler suspended with the finest, well-crafted coat hanger.
I didn’t say it was a good story.
The positive: it would be well nigh impossible for me to get a DUI this New Year’s Eve. Though I guess things could take a turn for the chaotic.
Epilogue: as I type this out in Word, I notice that there is a squiggly under “LeSabre.” I could add it to the custom dictionary, but what’s the point?
// posted by Tim @ 8:59 PM 
