I used to be just like you: a big, damn loser. My life sucked, I had a shitty job, and girls wouldn’t talk to me. But all that changed when I finally got my balls together and purchased a huge truck.
Oh yeah, ain’t nothing as sweet as this on the road. I had the thing raised almost four feet so you need a stepladder to climb in. Knowing that my ride glides above anyone else just turns my gears. Makes me want to push my foot down and cut you off, blowing black smoke over your windshield — no, my baby ain’t sick, that’s just a little something extra I had built into her to make me feel more like a man.
I start each day by washing her myself. I see how other owners treat their vehicles, and it makes me weep a solitary solemn tear each time. Well, it would if I were capable of crying.
Buying this thing made me so manly that my beard grew two sizes bigger that day and destroyed my ability to show empathy.
But anyway, I don’t haul dirt and stones or keep dirty and greasy quads in the bed — you bet your balls I don’t. I keep her clean, the way a truck should be.
After she’s had her shower, I take her out while playing her favourite song: Tik Tok. Don’t know it? Don’t worry, you will, because my bass pounds out at 140 decibals and could shatter glass at certain frequencies.
I swear, she even starts dancing when we get to the second verse. Does your ridiculous smartcar do that? Fuck no, it doesn’t.
I’m torn away from my metal baby each day between 9 and 5 when I go work my bullshit job filing papers and getting coffee for the boss’ son. I can see her out of my window, though. She looks lonely, like she just wants her wheel once again grasped firmly in my loving embrace. I gaze forlornly through that unforgiving glass pane, thinking of nothing but how long it will be before we are reunited.
Sometimes, when no one’s looking, I even blow kisses.
We eat lunch together. I turn her on, plug my George Foreman Grill into the cigarette lighter and she transforms my sandwiches into paninis. Honey ham and steak with ranch dressing — the best.
Can the boss’ son’s car do that for him? I didn’t fucking think so. Enjoy your shitty cold chicken salad sandwiches, Henry.
As soon as work’s done, I’m back out on the road and first order of business is cruising for chicks. It’s a simple affair; I pull up to a bus stop, open the passenger door and wait. No, my truck doesn’t get jealous, we’re in a mutually polyamorous relationship. In fact, we end up in sort of a threesome.
We’re all familiar with getting a blowjob while driving — it’s the first thing you do once you’ve mastered the basics like phonesex while at the wheel — but I got so much room I can pretty much do full-on coitus while driving her home.
Now I know, I know, you’re going to try the obvious “he’s just making up for his small penis with a big truck” thing just like everyone else has, but you know what?
Blow it out your ass.
I ain’t making up for a small dick; I’m complementing a gigantic one. Literally.
Yeah, I’m talking about fucking my truck. Feels good. Now get the hell out of my way, because I got to get my baby home. Now.
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