Squeaks Maroons

Jonathan Dy

I don't know if you have a car of your own, but let me tell you this, it's a real pain in the ass to maintain. It might just be my piece of shit, but it seems that there is always something wrong that must be repaired. It's almost depressing at times. So there you are, just getting paid and your first thought is putting money into your car, not to make it look all kick ass, just so that it can be in running condition.

Yeah, I know, I don't have to keep the car, but what, you think I'm gonna take public transportation? Or even WALK? WOOOOHAHAHAHA... Fuck dat noise yo!

Anywayz, there is another alternative to fixing my car... and that would be NOT fixing my car. While it might still run (on steep slopes and with the wind in the right direction), I would still consider it a borderline road hazard... Let's run through the list of dangers in utilizing the Ol Civic...

Ah yes, here we go, I've chosen two of the most prominent problems that have hampered the Ol Girl. Now let me share with you these experiences.

Exhibit 'A': Let me take you back about 3 months ago to when we got the deafening hum of a broken exhaust pipe fixed at Monsieur Muffler (that means 'He Who Fixes Mufflers' in french). The pipe gets fixed and all seems well... until I notice a faint scent emanating from the hood of my car. Days pass and it intensifies. I decide to take a look under the hood, thinking I'm all Mr. mechanic guy myself, and discover that there is a hole in my oil pan, conveniently the size of a screw driver, right above the pipe that I had replaced at 'He Who Fixes Mufflers'. A lil suspicious got I. So I go back to the muffler guys and say: "Yo Mufflah dude, I noticed there's a small hole in my oil pan that wasn't there before I got my pipe fixed... you know anything about that, muthafucka? Cuz if you do, papa's gonna hafta cap yo ass!"

Okay, the conversation didn't go exactly like that. It was more like: "Excuse me Monsieur Muffler, I have a hole in my oil pan... can you fix it please? (with a gentle smile)". But the estimate I got was a lil high, so I put it off to last week... yes, almost three months later. And what an embarrassing 3 months it was. The oil would leak on the pipe, it would get heated up and just smoke like a mad man. You don't understand how many people would look at my car, especially when stopped at a light. And when people would get outta my car, it would be like a whole process, i.e. "okay, roll up your windows, lock your doors and please refrain from inhaling the smoke on your way out". I'm sure on several occasions I became intoxicated by the updraft entering the vehicle. Once I was in a parking lot and nearby there were a bunch of hoodlums playing around as if they were the only ones in the parking lot. I didn't like their attitudes too much and was considering driving around them, thus creating a cloud of that potent, burnt oil smoke that would surround them and eventually render them unconscious, maybe even cause DEATH... or at the very least make them pinch their noses and cough REAL loud. That's the kind of power I had in my grasp. That's the power of... Ol Maroon.

So anyway, on to Exhibit 'B': It was about October, in the fall of '98 when I rounded a corner and suddenly heard the piercing sounds of a shrill, squeaking noise that unmistakably came from the ol girl. At first, I thought it might be a family of mini-mice living in my wheel well, but then after sobering up, I realized it was due to the thinning of my brake pads. The shear strength of this squeak was enough to draw the attention of passing canines. I can remember this dog belonging to one Mr. Wilson who would always react in a strange manner at every encounter with Ol Squeaks Maroons. As soon as I turned the corner and Mr. Wilson was takin' his dog for a stroll, doggy would leap from his master's side, bark and shake his furry coat uncontrollably in an attempt to reap havoc over my helpless, injured Ol Girl. It almost became a weekly event. The squeaks from my car were like the full moon to Mr. Wilson's werewolf. Even the memories are haunting. But alas, the squeaks have been removed and the lunacy of Mr' Wilson's Werewolf was seen nevermore...

And so ends another chapter in the life and times of Jon Dy's... Squeaks Maroon.

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