Another Bites the Pavement
After three years of loyal and occassionally low-inflated service, the Warthog has died.
It wasn't the corrosive rims that literally encouraged air to fly out of the tires.
It wasn't the water damage that pulled the headliner away from the roof.
It wasn't the hole near the sunroof.
It wasn't the fact that bits FELL OFF every time one would close the driver's-side rear door.
It wasn't the age of the car: 16 years, to the curious.
Surprsingly, it was not the wacking great fissures in the windshield.
No, thats all okay to drive on. But my brakes are rusted to shit, and that will about do it.
So I must depend on your mercy, dear readers, in the future. I feel as if I am regressing.
I will return to GR with Brett, the good fellow, but how I will traverse home in four weeks to get more medicine, I do not know.
I don't wish to be a grouch. But this is important news and it happens to be unfortunate. Some good news though: I think my cat is gaining weight. I like her pudgy.