Scarier Than A Bed Sheet

I had a very traumatic experience recently. After putting over 280,000 miles on my 1990 Nissan Pathfinder, I thought it might be a good idea to buy a new car. So I did. And, of course, it was fucking haunted. Typical, I know.

So like all haunted cars, this thing was crazy. The ignition would turn on and off at random times, the windows would roll down when it was snowing, the doors would lock when I tried getting in and unlock when I was in black neighborhoods. I mean, this thing really liked to fuck with me. It was just like KITT from Knight Rider, except the exact opposite from KITT's usual helpful and generous nature.

"You don't have to yell, Michael. I'm all around you."

So I'm at my wit's end with this thing. I'm using a Ouija Board, suffering through episodes of Ghost Whisperer, and actually using phrases like "wit's end." Needless to say, it was a troublesome situation. I felt like I was in the middle of a full-blown vehicular-poltergeist. I almost went Beetlejuice on this motherfucker with a dinner-party-séance.

Then I found out my ex-girlfriend works for OnStar.

I don't know what she was so bent out of shape about. I'm not the one who made her bulimic. Her fat ass made her do that. Really, I can't believe that bitch broke up with me. My tongue could stimulate the economy. AWWWWWW YEAH!

But in all honesty, I munch a serious box. Just ask Knight Boat...