Nothing made me feel more ghetto last week than driving the 1995 Jeep Sh*twagon around town sans muffler.
I was laying in bed and was startled by the obscene sound of scraping metal on ashphalt and that of un-muffled exhaust.
"Damn," I thought to myself. "Time for that bastard to head to the muffler shop."
Minutes later I hear the key opening the front door and my wife sheepishly peeking her head into the bedroom.
Stifling her laughter, she says "I just killed your muffler!"
"That was you?! Faaaaahk." We both chuckle over the situation.
Ordinarily, I'd have taken the thing to Midas or Cole for repairs, but since I'm selling it I didn't want to shell out the $175 minimum those bastards would charge. I had to figure a way to cheap out.
The entire week, I drove that thing to work: Duggah-duggah-duggah-duggah-duggah-duggah-duggah-duggah-duggah-duggah...
I felt as if everyone in the neighborhood took a peek my way in disdain.
Even my brother caught wind of it.
Bro: So what's up with your car?
Me: The muffler. Why?
Bro: One of your old students came in to my classroom saying, "Mr. G, your brother's car sounds like sh*t. I can hear him coming from two blocks away."
Fortunately, my father-in-law is a handy individual with an insatiable desire to acquire every tool known to mankind. He kindly asked me to bring the car over on Saturday morning.
En route, the O-Dog wanted me to tell me a little story.
"Daddy, did you ever (duggah-duggah-duggah-duggah-duggah-duggah-duggah-duggah) and then (duggah-duggah-duggah-duggah-duggah-duggah-duggah-duggah) with the girl who (duggah-duggah-duggah-duggah-duggah-duggah)"
"The girl who (duggah-duggah-duggah-duggah-duggah-duggah-duggah-duggah) with (duggah-duggah-duggah-duggah-duggah-duggah-duggah-duggah)."
"I'm sorry. Which girl?"
"Ah forget it!"
When I finally arrived at the in-laws, ears still ringing, I found that my father-in-law already had the ramps up. This guy loves a project like a spider likes a fly.
$9 in clamps later, the muffler was re-attached and the only sounds in the car were of my two little bastards singing the "Baby, baby - Stick Your Head in Gravy" song to each other in between wails and swinging fists on the way home. In some ways, I missed the Duggah-duggah-duggah-duggah-duggah-duggah-duggah-duggah-duggah-duggah-duggah-duggah-duggah-duggah-duggah-duggah-duggah-duggah-duggah-duggah...
On the way back to work this week, though, I missed it like a prom queen misses a pimple.
Thanks for pimpin' my ride, Mr. F. For less than ten bucks, too.