Hot…. Rod…… (Psychic) Lincoln……

Just when I thought nothing could ‘top’ my 1993 200,000+ miles Ford FallingApart Taurus… I now have the Hot… Rod…. (Psychic) Lincoln…

It basically looks me over, then presents “Fear Me Muther Dubber” - and I do.

Like the other day… I stuggled (no power steering, I really think it went out because it knows that life for me, hell for everyone in this economic state, is a struggle) into the ATM lane… got up to it as close as the steering would allow in the tight 90 degree turn - quarters… I was going out for the evening - and with an all too familiar limited budget (Victor, you HAVE no budget).. Ahm, anyways, I was taking $20 out when I probably shouldn’ta been taking twenty dollars out. So I’ve got my fitty-five year old butt six inches off the carseat so I could reach to punch in my code… enter…. Checking…enter. $20... Enter… and as 1/3 a me is out the window, the window decides on its own, now would be a good time to raise. As if “you don’t have that extra money… STOP.” I managed only a slight bruise on the upper arm, I did grab my money, and my receipt is somewhere on Highway 291 blowing around…

Last night. I traverse the same way every day. Past Royal’s Stadium, down the hill, round the big curve.. Upagin the most God-awful smelling chemical plant this sidea the Mississippi. Apparently, Hot… Rod… (Psychic) Lincoln had had just about enough of the odor - and again, raised up on it’s own.

Then there’s the door latch, or supposed door latch. I think HR(P)L (for short) reminds me “she left”.. and “sometimes I wish he would leave.” If you don’t open the passenger side lock after it’s electronically been locked - then the door will fly open upon a left turn. Again, it reminds me “she left”.. and the sometimes want of “I wish he’d leave.” (Empty nest)… Looking positively, I have found it to come in handy when dating and things just ain’t going quite right. “Hey, let’s go that way.” “Nope, sorry, we’re turning left.” Wooooosh… ker-platt… oops, sorry!”

“You dumbass you.” It reminds me I’m a tightass, and that my mechanical skills ain’t quite up to par. Recently (with the tent/pouring rain) I changed the brakes. An assured $289 Meineke bill had been paired to $63. After I finished, I noticed the little metal plate thingys in the bottom of the brake pad box as I began to throw it away. Shit. They were supposed to be affixed to the brake pads. I hadn’t done that, and I would be damned if I would do it on that wet day after I’d spent four hours in the driving rain. In the two weeks I drove it without the little metal thingys, enough dust was ‘manufactured’ that once I did put them on there - HR(P)L “protested” with a squeaky wheel noise when I applied the brakes, turned the corner - that anyone within two miles could hear it. I know HR(P)L, I’m a dumbass.

“Biggest loser.” We’re having that contest at work. I haven’t combined exercise and diet, but thru diet, Victurd once was 213, now 193. I’ve lived on Price Chopper and Wendy’s salads - and an occasional piece of chicken. Friday night, ‘visitor night’ at “The Peckerwood Club” (A story for another day), I had two pork steaks, seven helpings of vegetables, four thick slices of heavenly buttered bread and several Miller Lites to wash it all down. I was so GD full, and so GD drained from the week - I slept until 10am… and I ain’t slept until 10am since college. I thought my belt was gonna explode. So, what’s HR(P)L do? As I turned a corner - I hear this pop, and immediately the battery light comes on. The GD belt exploded, and the battery light came on. We’re now a pair. Exploded belts, and no juice/energy.

So, it (The Hot… Rod… (Phychic) Lincoln, or HR(P)L, scares me. I’m afraid to takea dump for fear of perhaps the oil pan bursting. I’m worried that once this never-will-end Winter/Spring transition finally does end, the AC will go out. I’m deathly afraid to even consider making whoopee, cause I just know then the next time we’re on Interstate, the cruise control will go ballistic and I’ll be destined to a ditch somewhere in Raytown thanks to a heightened 98 MPH cruise.

I pet it now. I kiss it. I try very hard not to think negative thoughts - or to doubt it once I’m buckled in. I make no jackrabbit takeoffs. I say “YES, my pecs are starting to look GOOD” insteada cursing inside at that lacka power steering. I park and walkup to the ATM. I make passengers (I like) buckle up.

My pappy said "Son your gonna drive me to drinkin'
If you don't stop driving that hot rod Lincoln"

Have you heard the story of the hot rod race
Where the Fords and the Lincolns were setting the pace?
Well that story is true cause I'm here to say
I was driving that model A.

It's got Lincoln motor and its really souped up
And that model A body makes it look like a pup
It's got eight cylinders, uses them all
It's got overdrive, just won't stall

It's got a four barrel carb, and dual exhaust
With four, eleven gears you can really get lost.
It's got safety tubes, but I ain't scared
Breaks are good, tires fair

(You know the middle part… then:)

I had flames coming from out of the side
Feel the tension, man what a ride
I said "Look out boys, I've got a license to fly"
And that Caddy pulled over and let us by

All of the sudden she started knocking
Down in the dips she started rocking
I looked in the mirror. Red lights were blinking
The cops was after my Hot Rod Lincoln - Damn

The arrested me and they put me in jail
Called my pappy to throw my bail
And he said "Son, you're going to drive me to drinkin'
If you don't stop driving that Hot Rod Lincoln"

SSSSHHHHHHHH! (She’ll hear you!)..

I REALLY DO (kinda-sorta) love my Hot… Rod… (Psychic) Lincoln… Love, Victurd.