Bruce Cameron - Aug. 6, 2009

The Sound of Bad-Car Karma

I was driving down the highway a few days ago when my car’s engine began making an odd, expensive-sounding noise. A small light appeared on my dashboard, illuminating a small symbol that seemed to indicate my transmission had just lost a chicken.

I called my mechanic, Melvin Walletdrainer. “Is the noise like, ‘klug-pee, klug-pee, krakatoa klug-pee-pee’?” he wanted to know.

“Not really,” I replied. “More like a ‘Mike’s little toe, Mike’s little toe, Gary’d bite a bedpost for Mike’s little toe.’”

“Really? ‘Gary’d bite a bedpost’? You sure it’s not ‘Terry’d bite a bedpost’?” Melvin asked shrewdly.

“Yeah, you’re right, more ‘Terry’ than ‘Gary.’”

“Ah, that’s good,” Melvin said.

“Really? That’s good?” I repeated hopefully.

“Well, good and bad. Good because I’ve got a college tuition payment due next month and now it looks like I’ll be able to afford it. Bad because, well, let’s just say Terry is a lot more expensive than Gary.”

“No, wait,” I said desperately, “I meant Gary.”

“Too late. You said Terry. When do you need the vehicle?”

“I’ve got a trip planned for this weekend,” I answered.

“This weekend!” he howled. “I swear, you’re the funniest guy I know. Let’s see, what’s today, Wednesday? Can you have it in here a week from now?”

“I suppose so,” I replied grumpily.

“Good. Get it to me in a week. I’ll have it ready in about 60 days.”

“60 days!”

“I know, amazing, isn’t it? I don’t know how I do it. Now, I have to warn you, once I pull the fritter-licker and twit the brass dangle, I may need to caterwaul the side ache.”

“How much is that?”

“How much you got?”

“Let’s just suppose you don’t have to, you know, lick the brass twits. I’ll bring the car in a week from today — is it a good idea to drive it until then?”

“It’s not just a good idea, it’s a great idea. My son wants to go to med school, and my daughter wants to marry some guy she met on her computer. You drive that car more than another mile, and it will go from ‘Terry’d bite a bedpost’ to ‘Mary’d bite a bedpost.’ Nobody can afford Mary. Are you in the vehicle now?”

“Yes, I always bring my cell phone with me in case I want to incur roaming charges.”

“Your best bet would be to pull over to the side of the road, take off your clothes and lie face down in a ditch. I’ll send my man with a camera.”

Melvin explained to me that the reason my automobile is so expensive to fix is that all the parts must be hand-carved by this one guy in Germany, and that guy died. “My Ford’s got 2 kabillion miles on it, and all I ever do is change the oil, but oh, no, you had to go out and get all fancy pants, high-heeled boots and frilly sleeves,” Melvin chided me. He’s mentioned this before — I don’t know why my car always makes him picture me as if I were a cast member of “Pirates of Penzance.”

“I had to get this car,” I explained. “I wanted a vehicle so that when I drove past a bunch of pretty women, they’d point and say, ‘Now there’s a man with a successful midlife crisis!’”

“I think they could have guessed that from your hair,” Melvin replied. “Why don’t you sell the thing?”

I didn’t explain that when I bought the car, standards were lax and the bank wrote me a loan with terms so extended it was more properly called a “sub-prime mortgage.” I owe more than the vehicle is worth by an amount that qualifies, all on its own, as a stimulus package.

“I thought about trading it in on something else, like maybe the debt of Bolivia,” I told him. “But I’ve grown sort of attached to the thing.”

“You and me both, brother,” he agreed. “I don’t know what I’d do without it. Get a second job, I guess.”

We agreed that he’d send a truck to tow it in.

We wanted to make sure that Mary’d keep her teeth off the bedpost.

To write Bruce Cameron, visit his Website at http://www.wbrucecameron.com. To find out more about Bruce Cameron and read features by other Creators Syndicate writers and cartoonists, visit the Creators Syndicate Web page at http://www.creators.com.

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