The car is leaking oil. Not really leaking but more dripping. Slobbering. Drooling. But the good news is that it’s only when it runs. I think. It’s hard to diagnose these things on your own.
I just can’t bring myself to tell anyone. For a guy, a car problem you have no idea how to fix can be as bad as a medical one.
My big leaking anus, sitting in the driveway, dribbling that black fluid down my leg.
I keep giving it vitamins (a quart a week) and finally got some cheap stop leak for gaskets in there. So that should work (if that’s what the problem is) in 200 miles or 3 days.
(200 miles? Do they have any idea how long it takes me to put 200 miles on that thing? I pray for 3 days)
You can tell my path to and from work by the black dot trail.
The pile of oil-soaked lawn clippings where I park is approaching an environmental disaster. (The rains do nothing to kill it. Its rainbow blood flows down the driveway, yet the body remains.)
My hope is to have it fix itself before my landlord notices (or gets fed up).
I should just take the car in, and pray for the cheap miracle fix (something that only happens in movies). But forget it, I’ve got trips (family trips, friend trips) planned for next month.
And I know the mechanic doesn’t make payment plans.
So I’ll go in when I get back and really am broke. So I can legitimately claim poverty when the diagnosis comes.
I might end up still buying toilet paper for my leaking anus.
But at least I’ll know what the problem is.
Email Mr. Tesch at firstname.lastname@example.org.