Connie...you piece of poo. I will cut you.

Today whilst driving to the hell hole otherwise known as work, my sweet baby Connie broke down.

For those of you not savvy with the thug life of Connie...here she is. A beautiful, maroon, pee stain, butt hole Ford Probe. Kill me. I hate her. I really do. Worst car ever invented. Just look at it.



We're talking...we're accelerating and all the sudden she poops her proverbial car pants and just stalls. Luckily we were on a big hill, so we just coasted down to a gas station and bought a 44 oz. Fresca to appease my outright hostility and discombobulation at Connie breaking down yet again. We tried to get to work...we really did. But Connie's tailpipe made a weird whistling noise, and due to my fear of being asphyxiated and Connie's refusal to move past 3rd gear...we had to stay at the gas station.

So what do we do now? I say burn that mother down. I fix Connie every single winter of my discontent, and I've had it. Connie is nothing but a confounded gypsy wagon. I will have no part of it.

So even though Connie is paid for...whatever. I hate you Connie.