Look at that man. So happy. So full of hope.  So….mobile.

That was me two years ago, showing my humble 1996 Honda Accord some love outside a hotel somewhere in middle America.  At the time,  I was just thrilled to see that my car and everything I owned at the time was still in the spot I left it the night before.  It’s something that I think most of us take for granted.  And in the last few years, I must say I’ve become as guilty as the next person.  And on this past Saturday, my ultimate fears were realized, I awoke to go to work and found that my car was no longer parked on the block that I left it.  Needless to say, I wasn’t very happy about it and am still pretty….well, let’s just say…sour.  So, since I’m sure that some how, some way the perpetrator will stumble across this blog I would like to address them right now.

Dear sir or madame,

I don’t know if you know this, but I think you may have taken my car.  I know it looks nothing like the car you own, and wasn’t parked any where near where you live but it is a very common vehicle.  So I understand the confusion.  You know, what with the Indiana state license plates and all of the shit in it that has my name on it, such as old pay stubs and the proof of insurance.  No. I totally understand.

Are you picking up on the sarcasm? I’m laying it on pretty thick. What I meant to say was…

FUCK YOU!

What was it exactly that drew you to my car?! Was it the paint job that was peeling away? The hail damage? The broken driver’s side door handle that would make it a death trap if it caught on fire? The AC that doesn’t work? The knobs and controls that were falling off everywhere? Oh no. None of those things? Hmmm. Then it must have been the speedometer and odometer that didn’t work that really sealed the deal for you? If that was it, then you must have loved it when it made that high-pitched banshee squeel as you hit the gas to make a speedy get away.

I think its pretty obvious this was a vehicle only a mother (or motherly…mid-twenties…dude) could love.  And God damn it! I did.

Yes, it was a deep, unabiding love.  And one that was swiftly and unjustly taken from me.  It has left me deeply scarred and questioning all I hold dear.

OH! Also, it was the only thing of any substantial monetary value that I owned. So now, instead of being your average poor, struggling young professional in LA.

I’m just fucking poor.

In closing, I would just like say that I hope you die. I hope that you stole my car and everything on it went out at the exact same time. I envision you driving back to “the docks” to drop off your awesome find.  The brakes go out and you lose control of the car.  It spins out of control, heading for a warehouse that surely serves as both a meth lab AND storage for high explosives.  You try to bail, but I’l be damned, that door handle won’t open.

BOOM!  You slowly crawl from the burning rubble.  Unsure of why you survived, only to endure the slow and agonizing death of burning alive.

Just to reiternate. Fuck you. Hope you die. Preferably in a horrific car crash.And preferably in my car, which you stole.

Best wishes fuck face.

<3 Kyle