Fuck you, Kitt. Fuck you right up your spoiled double tailpipes.

The BBQ Pit
1

I loved you, Kitt. I loved you from the moment I saw you on the corner of Gibbons Road, sitting under that old Oak Tree with the “For Sale” sign tucked in your window. I loved your beautiful shape that reminded me of a crouching tiger (the dragon being unseen because it was, of course, hidden). I loved the contrast between your glossy black body and the matte silver ground effects. I loved your sunroof, your perfect upholstery, your digital dashboard. I LOVED YOU.

When things started to go wrong, I took them all in stride. The fuel guage that was never accurate? I just figured my fuel mileage and went by the trip odometer, refueling every 300 miles or so. The broken exhaust pipe? I replaced it with a better one. The realignment you needed? I got you one. New tires? Only the best for you, my darling. I fixed you as best I could when someone tried to steal you. I taped a chenille chicken to the dashboard to make you even prettier. I hung Mardi Gras beads from your rearview mirror (itself a replacement for the one you dropped in my lap the second time I drove you). I put a brand-new stereo system in you so you would be the envy of all my friends’ cars. I did everything for you. I even paid ten cents extra to fill your tank with mid-grade fuel instead of low-grade at the gas station. I spoiled you.

How did you repay me? YOU FUCKING BROKE SOME MORE!

First, you broke in the parking lot of a diner in East Greenbush. We got you restarted the next morning. That was ok, maybe you just didn’t like having to shuttle my grandmother back and forth. That’s perfectly understandable.

Then, you broke in the parking lot of a Pizza Hut in Hudson. We got you restarted that evening. That was ok, maybe you just needed a new battery. I had my mechanic friends run load tests on you and everything. I replaced your starter. The world was good.

Then yesterday came.

WHY, oh WHY, Kitt, do you fuck me over like this? Why do you wait until I’m on the highway in Albany with a bunch of my friends riding with me to start backfiring, clunking, refusing to accelerate, decelerate, or shift? Why the hell didn’t you WARN me your transmission was about to fall out? You ungrateful bitchmobile!

Did I not love you enough? Was it something I said? Or are you just an evil bastard asshole of a fucking Cavalier? I should have known better than to trust a Chevy! Your type always fucks me over. All about looks, you are. But when I need you, you’re never there.

Twatsocket.

2

Now THIS is how a rant should be done. I’m taking notes.

10.0 and two thumbs up.

Fenris

3

'Nuff said.

4

applauds wildly

You’re worth better than that no-good piece of trash anyway. You know what I heard? I heard he has running around on you, blinking his taillights at other drivers when you weren’t looking and slipping other people’s driveways a bit of oil here and there. You’re better off without that no-good Chevy hussy.

5

I think I’m actually turned on right now. :smiley:

FWIW, I also had a Chevy once. A Blazer. How many transmissions did I put in it? Two. How long did I own it for? Two years. Will I ever buy Chevy (or American, for that matter) again? No.

6

::Wipes a tear from his eye::

Finally, finally somebody articulates my own frustration at car ownership! You feed them, clean them, you fix them when they’re sick. You worry about leaving them in the wrong kind of neighborhood. You insure them against (God forbid!) major catastrophe. You exercize them regularly while trying to keep them from getting in trouble with the police. You buy them little presents and trinkets to make them happy. You take pride in them. And you pay through the nose for the privilege.

And HOW do they repay you? By lulling you into a false sense of security and then stabbing you in the back!

Bastard automobiles! I hate them all!!

7

I have the exact oposite problem, I have a Subaru that just won’t die. I was brought up with a strange Colorado Car ethic, You don’t give up on a car that still runs fine. Maybe it’s decended from the old days when a cowboy’s horse was his life or something, But I feel complelled to drive the damn thing until something goes wrong with it. I bought the thing back in school for cheap when I was poor as hell, and it was pretty beat up then. By now, thanks to years of hail, and all the stupid people who can’t manuever their big ass SUVs around a parking lot it looks like it was in a demolition derby and didn’t win. The locks are all broken(but no matter where I park it nobody will steal it). The trunk doesn’t close very well and the seats are almost worn through. But the drivetrain? Still works perfectly, turn the key, shift into gear and go forward just like every other day. 290,000 fucking miles and it still just purrs. I have a good job, I can afford a decent car that doesn’t look like a post-apocolyptic prop, but nooooooo, nothing ever happens that I could posibly use as an excuse to get rid of my shitty-looking old car.

8

Racin,

c’mere and sit next to Uncle Ender for a minute. What I’ve got to tell you is going to be difficult to hear. I understand that. I brought you your favorite NASCAR racing doll though, so if any time I say something that is too much, you just give the doll there a squeeze and it’ll be all right.

Kitt’s sick, racinchikki. I know you’ve known this for awhile, but I think he’s more sick than even the mechanics are telling you. I want to tell you though, because your Uncle Ender doesn’t hold anything back from you. Kitt’s going through a rough time right now and no one knows when Kitt will come out of it. Or even if Kitt will come out of it.
There are times in a car’s life when they’ve just had enough. It’s hard to imagine, I know. You think they’re going to be there forever and they don’t. I understand what you’re going through. First it’s the anger. “How could you break down on me?” Then it’s the sadness, how you won’t even look at a commercial for Knight Rider on TNT because it reminds you of your car. And then you’ll feel the guilt. “Maybe there was something I could do. An extra oil change, a different air filter, a newer battery. The couple down the street have a '54 studdebaker and it’s running perfectly. What did I do wrong?” It’s not your fault racin. These things just happen. Cars grow old and no one knows how or why they go. They just do.
We just need you to get through to acceptance. You’ll come to understand then.
But important to remember that Kitt’s not gone yet. I need you to go outside to him and keep his spirits up through this time. I need you to be strong here. Do it for Kitt. Think of all the happy times you two had together. I know how excited you were when you first got him. How you’d take him everywhere with you and how you’d snuggle up to him before going to bed at night. Remember the time when you snuck out with him in the middle of the night, just to play with him around the neighborhood?
Or the time when you were upset with your parents and Kitt was the only one who was there for you? The only one who understood?
Go out and talk to him. Give him one last waxing before his time is up. Go tell him goodbye…and that you’ll always remember him fondly. He deserves at least that.

9

Whew. Thought you were talking about a relative of mine. Though I won’t deny that the 3rd Gen TAs are pieces of shit.

SD for me, bay-bee.

10

Guy’s version:

“Geez, this car’s a piece of shit. Better get rid of it and get something else. But then again, what did I expect from a Cavalier? Good thing I didn’t name it, huh?”

11

Heh. Oddly enough, I am teh only girl I know who names her cars. Plenty of my male acquaintances have named their transportation.

12

Heh.

One of my male friends names everybodies cars. He takes a ride in them and names as soon as he has a fix on their personalities. He has one car he named Wraith right after he bought he bought it. Perfect name for the car that dies and dies and is contantly resssurected.

13

I think it’s just pissed of that you named it Kitt.