A New Car for the New Man

"Look at her go, bro! She's zippy. She's got a 4-cylinder at 160 horsepower. For a car this size bro, that's a lot. You can really feel the power behind the wheel," says David, the half Southeast Asian half Puerto Rican in his little black and gray polo shirt. Name printed in big bold capital letters on his right breast, right under the DURGWOOD KIA MITSUBISHI logo. He's got the smirk of a man with the biggest dick in the room and he knows it. Sitting comfortably in the passenger seat of a brand new Kia Soul, David tells you how you too can have the biggest dick in the room when you buy this new and unique vehicle. You've been white knuckling the steering wheel for a good five minutes now, redlining it at 114 miles per hour on the highway. "Yeah bro," David calmly yells over the lawn mower engine that's been begging for death, "You're gonna get a lotta pussy in this thing." You close your eyes and exhale methodically, letting go of the steering wheel. God will now give you a pancaked into a concrete column death, pretzeled into plastic, steel, and glass at velocities man wasn't meant to understand. David will die right there with you, with his fuck-you smirk and perfect mongrel teeth, so shiny that if you stare at them, a face stares back. A face so grim and knowing that it seems to say: SATAN IS YOUR ONLY FRIEND. You open your eyes to see David's wispy haired tan forearm holding the steering wheel. Your eyes follow to see his face untouched and unmoved by your display of self destruction and scorn. He keeps talking vapidly in your direction, using words like "fuel efficient" and "peppy" to describe your future investment.

You blink and suddenly find yourself sweating in a plastic chair, facing David and a pile of papers. You voraciously sign every single ink line that doesn't already have words over it. As David turns to get the license plate., you're already under the table sucking his cock. David asks you for your annual salary while humming a placid tune. You pull his cock out of your mouth and scream, begging for him to shit in your mouth. Within a yoctosecond, you've already driven out of Durgwood Kia Mitsubishi in your colossal shitbox. Rolling into Starbucks, you pat yourself on the back for a job well done. You're a simple, God fearing man. You pay your taxes, you listen to whatever the radio tells you, and the only three ingredients you ask for at Subway is white bread, turkey, and mayonnaise. You've made a great decision today and it's time to treat yourself. A cheerful hermaphrodite asks you if you want to try the new Mango Dragonfruit Refresher. You enthusiastically nod your head, grinning like a small child at this delightful suggestion. You also pick up an $8.99 (!!!) pack of communion wafers and peanut butter before pouring a ziploc bag filled with nickels onto the counter. A sumptuous butter goblin saunters into the store, swinging around her voluminous gunt to and fro, knocking over cups with each waddling step. You make careful notice not to make eye contact, for every time your eyes meet, one percent of your ancestral DNA will immediately switch to Negroid Mestizo. You shuffle meekly out of the -213 Celsius temperature controlled nu-cafe and sip on God's nectar as you unlock the door to your mobile four hundred dollar monthly payment. Careful not to scratch the trim, you drive slowly with the detached suspicion of a man seeing more than one helicopter in the sky. Today has been a good day and there will be many more to come.