Mr. Blog's Tepid Ride

from May 10, 2008

Hey, Mr. Know-It-All, back again to answer your questions about cars. Cars? I’m answering car questions? Hella yes. Let me tell you a story.

I got a call from my editor just the other day asking why I haven’t written a column in a while. OK, it wasn’t a phone call, it was a sharp kick in the ribs. For some reason I was passed out under his desk. I was curled up in the fetal alcohol position, cradling an empty bottle of Grey Goose Vodka that I had been using to piss in. It was bone dry. Not only was I so shitfaced that I was going to piss in a bottle, I was too shitfaced to piss straight. Even worse, I was too shitfaced to remember to unzip my fly before pissing. My pants were so friggin’ soaked with piss. Gotta tell ya, that brought back some good memories.

Anyway, he said that if I didn’t come up with something, like right now, I’m fired. So I did what I always do, and that’s steal things off the internet. I pounded the keyboard with my face and a cartalk.com came up. So what the fuck? I’ll answer car questions. What do I know about cars? I know that in Afghanistan you can trade one for two Asian babies and a goat.

I also know that if you jerk off in the passenger seat and stick your cock in the window and raise it before you come you can get a pretty bitchin’ backwash. But you can only do it once a month. That’s how long it takes to heal.

Tom and Ray are two guys who answer car questions. Like you needed me to tell you that, geniuses. But their answers suck and mine are better.

Dear Tom and Ray:
For years, I have been a field-mouse-poor college student, sleeping in my (crappy, leaky, rusty) Jeep on trips, such as snowboarding, to save money (yes, it gets nippy — hence the zero-degree sleeping bag). Now, with a job, I bought a “new to me” 2006 Subaru Outback that has similar sleeping capacity in the back (yes, I can now afford a car, just not the crazy hotel prices at the ski resorts). My fear is that this “new” car has far fewer rattles and doesn’t leak air like my Hindenburg/Jeep did. So I fear if I sleep in it, I may run out of air and just die in my sleep. Can I die in my car if it is NOT running and I sleep in it? – Jonathan

Yeah Jonathan, I’ll answer your question, but first you answer mine- what the hell is wrong with you? Your name is spelled with an ‘h,” tool, didn’t anyone ever tell you? J-O-H-N-A-T-H-A-N. Your parents must have been real shits. Anyway, here’s my answer to your shitty and stupid car question: Stop being such a drain on society and get an apartment, pay taxes, and join society. You sleep in your car so you can snowboard all the time. What a dick! You stoner ratbag, you, you, whatever, hard to think when your eyes feel like all the whiskey in the world is trying to get out through your tear ducts. Sleeping in your car is only acceptable when you’re with a whore or your fourth wife just kicked you out of the house because you spent the paycheck on date rape drugs again and your daughter caught you masturbating to East German Nazi rape porn for the ninth time that week. (Yes, that’s a true story. I’m not proud of it but sharing embarrassing facts like that is what makes Mr. Know-It-All a well-respected advice columnist.)

Here’s another question that proves that people who ask me for advice get what they deserve.

Dear Tom and Ray:
I have a 2001 Chrysler Town & Country with a 3.3-liter V-6 engine and 134,000 miles on it. I use it to deliver mail for the U.S. Postal Service. One day I refilled my antifreeze, and a week later, it was empty. This past week I put in two gallons and now it’s empty again. There’s nothing on my driveway, so the car’s not leaking. So, where is all of that antifreeze going? Please help. – James

Anyone who read that letter knows that James is an idiot. A friggin’ jerkhole anal asshole idiot. I don’t give a shit about his leaky radiator; I’ve got enough trouble with my leaky cock with the bad prostate the size of a grapefruit and the pus-filled sores on my ass. But back to the subject, which is why James is an asshole- he’s a federal employee who uses his own car to deliver the mail. Now I know that federal employees, and especially postal workers, are the laziest turds in the bowl, but this guy is also the most dumb- he’s using his own car! Unless this guy has worked out a way to bill the feds for gas and oil and vodka, what the hell is he doing? Why doesn’t he just steal the keys to one of those white vans they ride around in and use that? Or steal someone else’s car. He’s a postman for god’s sake- he’s already on the brink of suicide, why not start stealing too? Don’t stop there, have sex with AIDS patients, shoot up like Rick James, snort arsenic, do it all! YOU’RE A POSTAL WORKER! YOUR LIFE ALREADY SUCKS! KILL YOURSELF! Want to know where the antifreeze is going? Mr. Know-It-All is stealing it. You think I’m paying for my own drinks? Cut it with enough apple juice and you’ve got a drink that’ll straighten the hair on your balls, if it doesn’t kill you first.

The next two letters are about the manliest thing that you can possibly do- farting.

Dear Tom and Ray:
Back in the 1960s, when I was an adolescent male, one of my friends told me that he could get his old car (late-1940s- or early-1950s-era) to “fart” whenever he liked. When I expressed skepticism about this claim, he demonstrated the phenomenon several times. By switching the ignition on and off while manipulating the foot pedals, he could make the car backfire with a spectacular farting sound that attracted the awe and admiration of any adolescents in the vicinity. I still don’t understand how he accomplished this impressive feat, however. Can you explain the mechanics of “car farting” for arrested adolescents like me? – Bill

Dear Tom and Ray:
I own a 2001 Jaguar Silverstone XKR. When I use the windshield washers, the smell is a cross between very bad breath and cow manure. I’ve emptied the tank several times and flushed it with Clorox, but it still puts out such an odor that if I’m at a stoplight and use the washers, the guy behind me passes me and gives me a look like I ate a gallon of beans and couldn’t make it to the toilet. My mechanic is befuddled. He told me to take it to a gastro doctor. What to do, short of replacing the whole system at a very expensive cost? – Max

Look, let me say it, FARTS ROCK! And they are funny! If my car could fart I’d never leave the driver’s seat. I’d drive around making it fart all day. Fart fart fart. Now I just walk around farting out of my ass. Any guy who doesn’t like farts is a pussy. Farting is what separates us from animals. Sure I know animals fart, I’ve owned dogs. But animals don’t make you pull their finger first. And animals don’t laugh when they do it. Except hyenas. If the Three Stooges had one flaw, it was the fact that Moe never dropped his pants and farted in Curley’s face. That would have been hysterical! And can you imagine it Moe farted in Larry’s face? He’d never get the stink out of his kinky hair. He’d walk around all day smelling like Moe’s ass! Yeah, the Three Stooges should have gone further. Like Laurel and Hardy. My favorite show is the one where Oliver Hardy shits in Stan Laurel’s dinner and makes him eat it. Huh? Yeah, I’m pretty sure that happened. Didn’t they show that on channel 11 last week?

Dear Tom and Ray:
What are shop supplies? I always thought it was old rags and sprays to clean or lube. My recent visit to a dealer’s garage cost me $22.56 for shop supplies. My total bill was $297.81. If I take my car to the dealer for repairs three times in a month, that will cost me a lot for supplies. Do I have to pay it? Is it a tip? – Carol

Hey dickstream, you’ve been ripped off. “Shop supplies.” You fell for that? You paid that? Listen Carol, you’re a woman so I’ll go easy on you. Come over and slip into something leather and pointy and I’ll explain. When a mechanic charges you for shop supplies, he’s really laughing in your face. It’s his way of charging you for booze, or maybe hookers, or whatever else he’s got going on in the shop. If he needs some fast cash to pay his pimp or his bookie, he just puts “shop supplies” on his bill and slips it to silly broads like you. “Shop supplies” is like when the government taxes you and on your paycheck it just says “misc.” and there’s like $55 taken out of your check for no good reason. Where does it go? Probably in the pants of some Senator’s young trick.

But I guess I should talk a little bit about cars, this being a car column and all. Well, cars need gas, so put gas in the tank. Filling it with beans doesn’t work. You need three or four tires and if you don’t have a windshield you’ll have to do some pretty dirty stuff to a cop behind a rosebush to keep from getting a fat ticket.

And remember teens, Mr. Know-It-All never drinks and drives. He drinks, snorts, injects, rubs, vomits and drives. A DUI? Mr. Know-It-All invented the DUIBBAKLP.

Tags: bad advice, bmj2k, car repair, car talk, cars, Mr. Blog, Mr. Blog's Tepid Ride