The only car salesman I have ever liked was the one portrayed by Kurt Russell in the 80’s classic “Used Cars.” If you haven’t seen it, go watch it and then come back here. Until you do, consider yourself dead to me.
Seriously, how in fuck have you not watched this masterpiece? It has explosions, boobs, and the two guys who played Lenny and Squiggy in “Laverne and Shirley.” Yes, I know Michael McKean went on to greatness, but IT’S FUCKING THE GUY WHO PLAYED SQUIGGY! So get a move on, you pansy.
I need a new-used car. I will never buy a new car because I have children who can fuck up a car quicker than Rosie O’Donnell can obliterate a Chinese buffet. Yes, I made a Rosie joke because she is more repulsive than a garbage truck filled with rotting meat and medical wasted parked at a sewage plant on a sweltering August day.
Ever seen her movie where she plays a person who is mentally retarded? Good Christ, that’s an affront on humanity. It’s an affront on the entire goddamn universe. If I could, I’d melt her down with sulfuric acid, harvest the tallow, make the world’s shittiest candle, and burn it in a volcano.
Wait, where in fuck was I? Oh, buying a car. I always thought that sales worked like this: I need something, you have something. I buy it. You make money. I have received what I want. Endorphins flood my brain, I scurry home, take off the shrink wrap and enjoy a well crafted epic about transsexuals who want to help a wayword girl dressed as Princess Leia find her way home, while discovering her love of water sports.
So I’m buying this car. Actually it’s a really big SUV because I have kids and all that shit and I love buying gas and killing our environment. I have contacted a car guy who has talked to me once, promised to get back to me, and prompted me to call his shit ass back at least three times. He called back and spun a fairy tale that was so full of bullshit that I was impressed.
Then I get on the interwebs, good golly Miss Molly. What a crapfest. What a mountain of shit to dig through. What a set of tits on that girl. Yeah, it devolved into that as quickly as Rosie O’Donnell jumping on a pint of Ben and Jerry’s Chunky Monkey. Or I bet it’s called “Cunty Munky”. Get it?
I have created at least 5 different accounts that are emailing me car selections that HAVE NO GODDAMN FUCKING RELATION TO WHAT I WANT. Hey, Cars.com, do you think I’d be interested in a Prius? Who do you think I am? Andy Benard? I own a pair of testicles. I want a big, stupid SUV. And oh by the way, CarMax, I live in Maryland and I’m not paying to have a car shipped from Guatemala, or was it Peru? If we ever meet, I will bury a vintage Bowie knife deep into your skull.
Even tried Craigslist, and yeah, most of those listings were totally believable: “Jump on this quick! 2015 Suburban with 10,000 miles for $30K.” Funny, the meeting place is a block from one of Baltimore’s hottest drug corners. I’ll be down in an hour, I have brought cash. You will know me by the fact that I am white and don’t look like a habitual drug user. Also, my mom will be with me.
I’m old school, which means I’ll keep dealing with that gecko of a salesman. I’m sure he’ll fuck me over and dangle awesome deals in front of me. I’ll go after them like – no, I’m tired of Rosie jokes. How about, “I’ll go after them like Donald Trump going after the presidency of the United States?” That image is more appalling than any Rosie related joke. It chills me to my marrow.
Adios, you magnificent motherfuckers.
Something that made me laugh:
There is a remote possibility that the Kardashians, Trumps entourage, and P Diddy or whatever his fucking name is, could be kidnapped by cannibals and eaten alive. You never know.
![[DOOR FLIES OPEN]](https://doorfliesopen.com/wp-content/uploads/2015/08/DFO-MC-Patch.png)

Leave a Reply
You must be logged in to post a comment.