I see that Low Rida go by, I say Oh My

Did I ever tell anyone that I'm not driving my car anymore? Around the time the world's greatest mechanic misdiagnosed my lack of brake lights as a broken door chime, I threw my arms in the air and said fuck it, and I sold that piece of shit.

Well, actually my dad sold it for me. His name was on the title even though I'd made every payment. I'm still not sure if I ever had any say in the matter. I believe somewhere along the line he suggested in a stubborn tone that I needed to get all my shit out of the car so we could sell it since it was starting to cost him a lot of pizza (did you know mechanics could be paid in pizza?). Well I never made time to clean out my car, but that doesn't change the fact that it's gone now.

.....

Come to think of it, I don't remember ever receiving any kind of monetary compensation for that "transaction".

.....

fuck. Swindled by my old man. Ouch. I suppose it's mostly fair by now. I've been driving his blazer or truck back and forth to and from campus for months now. On the days he needs one vehicle or the other I have to swap with him, other than that, it's not a big deal. The tire on the right-front of the blazer has a slow leak. So what? Airing up a tire every once in a while is a far cry from having to walk everywhere.

Until recently....

One day not so long ago while I was working at the bookstore my dad came in and asked me for the keys to the truck, which I had been driving. He said he had bought a camper for the truck and needed to go pick it up. I'm thinking this:



but what he got was this



WHAT THE FUCK!? Okay, fine. He'll put it in his driveway. That's what he said he'd do. Flash foward to three days later and I'm puttering around town in what can only be described as the rape-mobile. I'm driving around and people literally think I'm bringing my house with me like some sort or bizarre hippie or serial killer hermit man guy person. If you haven't noticed, Dad, I've been single for almost two years. Slapping a pop-up camper on the back of an old Ford and telling me to drive slowly because it might slide out the back is NOT HELPING.

Oh, didn't I mention? It's not secured with ANYTHING. Not only am I driving around with what was most probably seized in a child molestation investigation in the bed of the truck, but at any moment with the right luck (my luck to be exact) it could fall out in the middle of the road. Just fucking great. Then people can drive by and think:
Look at that poor bastard. He's so sick in the head he's trying to set up a heinous crimes command post in the intersection of Gay and Commander. What a perverted son of a bitch.