To the casual observer, it might appear that my blog is in fact, nothing more than a bunch of random crap and formulaic mockeries directed at 80’s pop culture, Dick Cheney, monkeys, and band names.  In fact, all the myriad secrets of the universe are contained within these daily (for the most part) writings, like the Da Vinci Code, or the after 11:00 menus at Waffle House. Nay, my blog a like a Rosetta Stone of human existence, a veritable Mad fold-in of the soul.  But it owes it’s existence not merely to me, but to innumerable others, and so I would like to take this opportunity to thank one of them for their awesomeness.  That one, is my van.

 

            How, you ask, does my van contribute to this blog?  Well, for one thing, without my van I would doubtless live a homebound and dull existence, developing a dual personality, staring at shiny objects, and fearing the light of the day, my only computer activity consisting of that old Qbasic game where you blow up gorillas.  Yes, my van gets me all over the friggin’ place.  It is nothing short of my very own Millennium Falcon, or to use and even geekier metaphor, my USS Defiant, that allows me to leave Deep Space My House, and boldly go where no man has gone before, as well as garner better ratings.  Let’s take a look then, at what makes my van totally sweet.

 

            First, while most vans that year were made with a Big ol’ V6^®, mine was the economy model, and came with the Not Quite Big Enough 4 Cylinder^®.  As a result, there’s enough extra room in the engine compartment to fit Grover Cleveland (affectionately known during his Presidency as “Uncle Jumbo”) in there.  This has the happy side effect of making it totally easy for me to reach in there and fix stuff without having to go and pay a man of questionable hygienic practices named Earl (the man, not his hygienic practices) large quantities of money to do stuff a monkey with a ratchet set could do (we are, of course, talking about a glow-monkey here).  Also, owing to the uniquely weird engine design, combined with the fact that the catalytic converter plate fell off sometime last year and the steering gear never has sounded quite right, my van sounds like Sebulba’s pod racer.  This makes driving fun, as I can always pretend I’m about to run over Anakin Skywalker.  Finally, owing to the teacup engine in my van, it always feel like I’m going way faster than I actually am.  Many a time, I’ve hit the road and floored it, listening in a pleased manner to the roar of the engine as I let those horses run, and then looked at the dash and seen that I’m still pushing 35.

 

            It’s a Plymouth.  Why is that cool you ask?  Simple, they don’t make Plymouths anymore.  A few years ago they were bought out by some German company and the American branch was renamed “Hitlermobile USA” thus relegation the Plymouth to that venerable list of old-ass cars they don’t make any more, like the Stanley Steamer, the Edsel, and the non-gay-looking Beetle.

 

            It was made in Canada.  Now, this by itself isn’t all that cool, but in a way it’s kind of inspiring.  You see, my van came to this country from a far Frenchier one, and though an immigrant in this great nation of ours, has learned to fit in perfectly, running red lights, disregarding speed bumps, and running off of regular unleaded, rather than croissants and moose snot, as cars do up in the frozen North.

 

            It didn’t come with many gauges in it.  Yup, as part of the whole economy plan, it pretty much just came with a speedometer a couple of idiot lights, and a gas gauge that’s just accurate enough to tempt you into believing it, just so that it can crush your hopes like a baby chipmunk beneath a cinderblock.  As such, I’ve taken the liberty of adding a few pieces of instrumentation to the dash, but since I don’t really know what I’m doing, they’re all just sort of bolted on wherever, so my van has more of that H.G. Wells, retro steampunk look to it, which is totally sweet.

 

            It has a blue book value of $138.  Really.  You know what that means?  It means that I pay no taxes on it at all.  It means that my insurance is totally low.  It means that unless I park it next to the junk yard, there’s always another car nearby that looks more stealable.  Also, this is a point of honor amongst my people.  Long have the elders of my tribe decreed that it is a shameful thing to get rid of a car while it’s still worth more than $400, and I have surpassed all my brethren in this degree.

 

            So yeah, kudos unto thee, my van.  You’ve carried me nearly 200,000 miles, we just need another 800,000 before your odometer rolls over.  Next time I take you to East Coast (Where your Mom would stop!)  I’ll give you a tank full of the good stuff.

 

            And, for all you people out there in cyberspace, here’s a bit of a poser.  You see, the one thing my van lacks is a totally sweet name.  So think up a good one, and send it to me, if it totally rules, I’ll use it, and your name will be remembered for as long as I have the van (estimated time, 10,000 years).