Car Mechanics and Anal Rape

If, like me, your understanding of cars is somewhere between "It has 4 cylinders" and "What the fuck is a timing belt?" at some point, you've probably had the horrifying feeling that you were being anally raped.

Look, rape isn't funny. And neither is car maintenance.

Since I lack the knowledge and resources to fix anything besides refilling the oil and changing a spare (which would surely be a colossal pain in the ass too), I entrust any and all other issues to a private mechanic. He seems like a nice enough guy and I know that at 95,000 miles, a foreign luxury car is not an easy or inexpensive fix. Truthfully, I blame myself for getting into such a money-sucking investment at only 24 (when I bought it). But goddamn, it was so SWEET!

Audi A4, black on black, leather seats, sunroof, tiptronic shifting; suffice to say a small step up from the perfectly reliable Chevy Prism I had before. (Believe me, it isn't lost on me that it would still be running problem free right now, and likely for another 20 years.) But an Audi! C'mon! Tony Stark had one, and I always liked 'em too. "My salary is good now," I thought in 2008, "and it could only go UP from here. What's that? It already has 73,000 miles? It's perfect."

Oh to be young and stupid. Actually, I'm still young and stupid, but decidedly less so.

Like a beautiful, big-breasted gold-digger filing for divorce, this car is now taking everything I have, including my extracted 401K, and constant help from the unbelievably kind Bank of Mom and Dad. If only I had signed a prenup.

Last week the bitch got me for $2,600; the entire coolant system, wheel bearings, and two new tires. Parts and labor, sans the oil to lubricate my ass before the financial gangbang. I would've paid the 7 bucks extra for the KY fellas. And surprise surprise, it was back in the shop on Monday, for an unrelated issue. Luckily this was a fairly easy fix, but I get the distinct feeling that she's laughing at me. Like this $120 tab was a cute little wink, she's jabbing me in the ribs, subtly, "Just kidding, not this time...but it's coming."

But, like a psychotic love affair, there's a piece of me holding onto the memory of what she was in that first year. Oil changes and premium gas were her only necessities. I indulged her with personal and thorough washes every week. It was a wonderful time for us. Maybe with a couple more little tune-ups we'll be back on track. Maybe? Maybe???

"Listen man," my mechanic tells me, "You need to know, you should expect to spend this much money every year from now on with this car. 2 - 3 grand at least." Thanks for the honesty, Dave, you kind sadistic British fuck. Cheers mate.

Word to the wise: ride a bike. Or have a lot of money. Or both.