An Open Letter to my Car:

Dear 2004 Mercedes C230 Kompressor Sedan:

Go fuck yourself. From a couple months after I brought you home, you have always had something wrong with you. Fuel pump issues, door handles breaking off, tires exploding on the freeway, calipers rusting shut, brakes disappearing, and your latest stunt, with the alternator failing this morning, and me enjoying a functional meltdown on 836 on the way into work... that was awesome. As was the $1,000.00 I spent on buying you a new alternator and a new battery today. I hope you enjoyed your oil change, bitch.

I pour money into you. Money for premium gas. Money for the tires you eat. Money for this, money for that. Coils, and sparkplugs, and insurance and on, and on, and on.

And I'll say this: before the oxygen sensors in the engine went bad (oxygen sensors I was GETTING READY TO REPLACE, TO THE TUNE OF $600.00) you were a zippy, car. Now you're like driving a Honda. Only I can take turns a little faster.

I pay you off in December, and so help me... you better check it with the expensive repairs. You've got less than 75K miles on you, and I feel like we're approaching some sort of disastrous climax. It'll be interesting to see how that climax plays out, because as a result of today's repairs, the SRS light came on, which goddamn well better not mean I have to replace your airbags, because if I do... well, let's just say you might "go off a bridge" and end up "in Biscayne Bay," and be a "total loss."

Check yourself, car. Or I'm gonna trade you in for a Honda Insight faster than you can say "Kompressor."