Nothing is worse than shopping for a car. Except shopping for a car while suffering a debilitating attack of gout. Or perhaps shopping for a car while Newt Gingrich sits atop your chest, giving a rambling speech on Chilean monetary policy and the Yalta Conference. Or, now that I think of it, shopping for a car in a strange dystopia where the HeadOn commercial plays non-stop on every sound system.
So, yes, now that you mention it, my topic sentence was flawed. Some things indeed are worse. But you'll do well, my friend, to note what all those nightmarish scenarios had in common: shopping for a car. It's no coincidence.
If all goes well and Newt stays off my sternum, I'll buy the sixth car of my life this fortnight, and I couldn't be less thrilled. The first four, combined, cost less than the fifth; the sixth might well double the first five. Delightful! I might have to sell my autographed Josh Tate Bible study notes. The bidding starts at €3 (he's huge in Luxembourg).
I'm currently fielding emails from sales managers with poor reading comprehension and (apparently) no sense of a work-life balance, and I up and gave my cell phone number to cars.com tonight, like a desperate chump! What was I thinking? What can I do? Who will deliver me from this body of death???
MANNY!
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1 comment:
Steve, welcome to the Octagon! I'll have my man take care of your things. Can I get you a glass of cool cider?
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