Lonely Days, Loney Nights

I once owned a car. I know, shocking, seeing as I am an American and all. It was a Pontiac Firebird, and it was AWESOME. It was the fastest, prettiest car I have ever owned.

It was so pretty, in fact, that once I came upon a man rubbing himself all over my car. Clothes on, but all the same, ewie.

The car, although pretty, was a piece of crap. The window would randomly fall down, and I would need to duct tape it back up, which was no easy task. But it also meant that I was always carrying at least one roll of industrial size duct tape in my purse. So, I walk down the block to my car, and see this drunk dude, Bud Light in hand, standing on my hood, grinding on my car. If it were Tawny Kitaen, it would have been hot. STILL WEIRD, but hot all the same. But no, it was some random dude in an Illinois hat, and he was very drunk.

"HEY!" I yelled.

Drunk Car-Molestor Guy turns around, "Wha?" he asks.

I don't exactly know what came over me, but instead of "talking it out," I just decide to whip my industrial roll of duct tape and hurl it at him. It hits him dead center in his face, and his face EXPLODES in this burst of blood.

"What the heck do you think you are doing?" I said, only, you know, laiden with more profanity than necessary.

"Sorry...I'm sorry. Is this your car? I'm sorry." He says as he falls off the hood of my car. He gets up, and runs away down the block.

"Fricken crazies," I say to myself as I walk up to the car.

It's about then that I realize - this is not my car. This is a Camero. A really, really nice Camero. Ah well, I just saved someone a really weird experience. Then I duct taped a smiley face to his driver's side window, and went on with my night.