Friday, 16 June 2017

The Majestic Mustang - 1988 Ford Mustang.

            After losing my battle with the brown Mothra, I was approached with the very idea of horse trading. I have never swapped one object for another, let alone a car, and I couldn't believe that a man who wasn't a mental patient escapee from the hospital would ever want a battered up Japanese prostitute. Luckily for me he was roped in by her painted beauty as I was when I first saw her and traded me straight across for a grey mustang. How could I say no? The gauges all worked, it pretty much ran on the price of hay, and it actually got me from point A to point B. Marvelous.

            The joy having a car that looks like a thoroughbred (but runs like an ass), could trick young, naive girls into going on a trail ride at the drop of a hat. Enjoying this newfound attraction makes me forget the Japanese monster (who by the way feel in love with the new owner and never gave him one damn problem the entire length of ownership, that C***), But no matter, the new horse is doing just nicely. And as a reward I decided to sink some extra cash flow into her. Some new body work, tinted windows, a fresh coat of paint, cool racing stripes, and a bass sound system that could project the very resonance of a young man’s throbbing loins to all the local mares in heat. Yes. I was proud of my new prized pony (let’s face it; it was only a four banger). But with her midnight blue exterior   gleaming in the dazzling sunlight, any gambler that saw her would admit she would be a sure thing getting girls up on the saddle!

            Breaking her in was the easy part. Unfortunately, breaking parts was a part of her way of life as well...sadly. Being a ford owner also meant costly breakdowns which mean my ride wouldn't get to stretch her legs as often I liked. Just like Mothra, but with a twist of domestic violence. Most notable occasion was a road trip with a couple of good friends on the way to the Grey Cup. At first I thought she seemed a bit lame. On the way back what we thought would be a victory lap, ended up leaving us stranded on a bridge. In the middle of Calgary. During rush hour. We were able to bring here home limping, but like all horses who break their ankles you have to put them down. So unfortunately this is the end of the trail for this here nag, she'll end up back in the stables for quite some time before I end up horse trading her for an orange 1973 Dodge Charger.

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