The Cars You Would Use To Curse Your Worst Enemy
The person I hate the most is (was) my father’s third wife.
The car i would curse her with would be equipped as follows:
Three-on-the-tree manual transmission, because the woman could not drive a stick to save her life.
A very loud smoke alarm that goes off at the slightest whiff of a lit Marlboro Light.
Turn signals, door chimes, etc., that sound like Yoko Ono being put through a meat grinder.
Her loser junkie son and his equally loserish girlfriend permanently strapped in the back seat, begging for money, food or whatever need they had at the moment. (The asshole stole my father’s microwave FROM HIS HOUSE when my dad was in the hospital after his last heart attack.)
No air conditioning and windows that don’t roll down, because she was always having hot flashes. Besides the heat will be good to help acclimate her to the fires of Hell, where she will probably spend eternity. Oh, and vinyl seats.
And finally, photos of me flipping her the bird positioned at every angle.
Then we run the whole mess through the crusher, burn the remains, bury the ashed and salt the earth so nothing ever grows there again.
Evil damn woman….
You get the spirit of this whole thing, my friend. Good work.
