My life is not the carefully manipulated plots that Christoff wrote for Truman. I live in Roger Rabbit’s ToonTown. When I drive the car with the broken fuel line around town I can practically see the long Wiley Coyote fuse racing to catch up with the car. When I get the tree half-way lit and a fuse blows I can hear the laugh track. When I hear Doug’s broken muffler Jeep three blocks away I see the cartoon smoke trail. Some days it’s hard to see the humor because there’s a giant anvil on top of me but I’m sure this will be funny in retrospect. I wouldn’t mind enjoying the joke instead of being the object of the joke once in a while.

5 thoughts on “110183384975417634

  1. David you made me laugh out loud. there must be a special spot in hell for these cars that cause constant strife and expense.

  2. I think that is what sledgehammers were invented for–to help send them there. That and neighbors who continually slam their doors at all hours. (I live in an apartment.)

  3. I think that there are days we ALL look up to see if that anvil is falling – I know I do. I have one of those cartoon cars myself – there is a hole in the exhaust system that could swallow a small child at this point = You can hear my car from far far away.

  4. Sounds tough but so are you judging by what I’ve read here. Hang in there and keep writing–we’re all pulling for you.

  5. This might cheer you up. When I was a kid, my parents had this awful white Bel-Air station wagon that had the wonderful ability to drop its gas tank to the ground as your were driving down the road. The strap holding it up would pop off all of the time. Nothing like looking out the sideview mirror and seeing sparks shooting everywhere from a damned gas tank! Since that was broke, we also had to stick a pipe down the fill tube to see how much gas we had.

    This should bust you up. We had old old Chevy Impala from the 60’s. This was around 72 or 74. My Dad decided to paint the thing with interior latex house paint! It was a horrible pale yellow that he had used on my Grandmother’s kitchen. Imagine the humiliation for a 12 year old being dropped off at school in that monstrosity. I must say though that the thing never rusted again. 🙂

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