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Vehicular Homicidal Maniacal Rampage


     Imagine this.

     Gold 1986 Honda Civic 4 door coupe with black trim, standard tranny, 5-speed, manila plush interior, black dash.

     Now picture this car as if it had been run ragged for 14 years, never seen the inside of a garage, and never been worked on.

     I bought it for $350 off of a friend at work. I -needed- a car, because my rides to work kept flaking out, causing me trouble when I came in to work late, on foot. I lived la vida ramen for a month because I couldn't afford it, either. I still didn't have a license, so I didn't drive it much. I took it to the store, and to work, and that was it.

     Later, my brother wakes me up in the middle of the night asking if he can use my car to take a friend home, as his ride never showed up. If you ask me a question when I'm dead tired, the answer will be as precise and agreeable as possible. So he takes the guy back home. I wake up in the morning, and get bitched at by the slumlord about my car being parked in front of the apartment building. I hop downstairs, start the car up, and attempt to move the car. It doesn't move in any gear. I asked my brother what happened to my car without trying to kill him. He said he was doing about 35 outside of town on the way back, and that something broke, and the car slowed to about 15. He then said he didn't want to stop the car in case it wouldn't start again until he got back. The flywheel pretty much exploded. Ow. So the car would move, if you floored it, but really slowly.

     A while after I got the car behind the apartment building, I gave my brother my keys. I told him that if I couldn't get a ride home from work, I'd need him to come get me. A couple weeks later, my roommate gets his car working, so I go to my brother to get my keys back. He told me he gave them to my roommate. I asked my roommate for my keys. He said he gave them to me. I informed him he did not, and he continued to insist he did. So great, no one could start the car or put gas in it, because the keys were missing. I contacted the original dealership. Apparently, the car was too old, and they didn't have key codes for cars sold before such and such a year, so I couldn't get replacement keys from them. None of the locksmiths in this part of the state could make duplicate keys, even when presented with the ignition. So no keys ever.

     After a whole bunch of shit happens, I have to clear my belongings from my apartment and stay at a friend's house. Long story there in and of itself, but let's just say his actions led to my current lack of a home, and that's why I'm staying with him and his mother right now. A couple months later, the slumlord decrees that I have to move my inert car from the apartment building's parking lot. I manage to get it hauled to the place I was staying via a wrecker. Dude's father, a terrible mechanic/father/husband/human being, decides HE can fix my car in return for the work I had been doing for them. Long story short, my car now sits in the driveway full of oily and rusty car parts, no wheels, no keys, and generally ruined. Some more shit happens, and my friend, his mom, and myself move to the city I'm in right now. Everything is okey dokey. I do all the hard work around here, so I'm not a freeloader, much to the benefit of my ego. The plan is to sell (give) the Civic to my friend's mom, and thus get it out of my name so I don't catch any hell for it being in a million pieces in some asshole's driveway. Thus is the miserable story of the first and only car of my own.