Why did you leave me???

Is this supposed to be a funny joke? Haha I get it! Now come get me! My face hurts! My rear is all scratched up, and all you could do was walk away unscathed. Is this all I mean to you? After all these years?

It was just a little raccoon, we could have taken him! Don’t you trust me? Instead I end up with a face full of turnpike median and you, you disloyal wench, you end up chatting up the man whose car has flashing lights! Is that what you want? Well, maybe I'm not that flashy, but I have always been there for you!

Two super-reflective men lit tiny little fires around me, as if to say: everybody! look at this hideous Plymouth Neon! Look how messed up he is! The passing compact cars chuckled, the mid-sized ones laughed, and the trucks, oh the murderous cackling of those relentless trucks. If only there were some bicycles I could feel superior to, but no. It was the Pennsylvania Turnpike, and it was midnight. And I lost control of my fluids, all over the ground. SHAME!

To make matters worse, you let a big truck carry me away to his house! I have never met this truck! His must be a house of torture. As we pulled up, vehicles of all shapes and sizes lie there, dead or near dead. He just left me there though, probably saving me for later. But then the next day, another truck picked me up and took me to his house! More mangled faces-more horrific stories! But he, he had a staff of people who seemed to be helping them, I was saved! Or so I thought…

All these dirty men were looking at me and they tried to get my hood open. Then they gave up and they said it was a total loss! Damn straight they lost- I wouldn’t let them get it open! I haven’t heard from them since!!! I feel so cheap.

Then, miracle of miracles, you came for me! You tenderly rubbed me with tears in your eyes. You didn’t look directly at my wounds. I do not blame you. You removed all your things from my trunk and interior, you even unscrewed my name tag! You attempted to remove the sticker on my rear that declares my disdain for President Bush. You wouldn’t get that though; I wouldn’t let you. If I am going to die with anything, it will be my disdain for President George Bush. I suggest you do the same.

We sat together for a few moments. You said some sweet things, you cried a bit you patted my dashboard, kissed the steering wheel, and you were GONE. You banged me up, you took everything out of me, and you walked away. Sure you’re sorry, you raccoon-swerving bitch, sure. Whatever. Just come back! Please! I know your secrets! I know how bad you sing! I’ll tell!!

Revenge is a lemon,
Manny