Loud Canary Tank

It was a yellow Volkswagen Beetle. If it were a person, it would have been an at-risk, self-abusive teenager. It did what it wanted. If it wanted to take you somewhere, it did. If it didn't, it stayed put. If it did take you anywhere, it sounded like someone giving you a raspberry; a sustained raspberry. It was the most obnoxious car ever built, and as luck and bad economic times would have it, the pale, yellow ogre of metal became the family ride.

The car was cramped. Being that the engine was in its posterior, the rubbery backseat would get hot. Its tires were thin and susceptible to flats. It was as if it got flat tires on purpose. It was a spiteful car, breaking down when it was most needed, finding sharp objects to run over. It had the personality of Axl Rose in that it simply wouldn't go on, not caring at all if a riot broke out as a result of its petulance.

My Jailbird Brother The Car or The Hate Bug would have been appropriate titles for it. One day, like an addict, it died, shiftless, uneventful.

It sat in our backyard for 5 years. All of its tires flat, it was difficult to move. When it was finally towed away, it caused an unprecedented ruckus. Sparks flew from it as its steel fender scraped against the concrete.

If it has its way, it would have stayed there for an eternity, reminding us that we were had, hustled into buying it, keeping it, putting up with it.

Darren -- I like it!