Boys and girls, this is the story of my first car ever. I will fully admit that this is really only a "funny if you were there" kinda story.

So this all happened like 10 years ago. I used to have this beat up old truck -- a 1987 GMC S15. It was beige. The beige was painted by hand -- you could still see the fuckin brush strokes. Anyway, one summer day I'm hanging out with my friends Tori, Jonathan, Amy, and Shannon. We were over at Shannon's house, and her mom came home and, well, her mom's insane. So we left, sans Shannon, because her Mom felt like flipping out on her. So we went over to Amy's house. More good times. I'm all about fire and we had a bonfire and had much fun. Burgers, smores, lots of combustible hydrocarbons went into the fire. Then, it was time to go. We started piling into my crappy truck. I got in on the driver's side, then Tori on the passenger side and scooted to the middle. Jonathan got in by plopping down -- directly on Tori's hand, which was resting on the seatbelt for the moment. We heard that little bastard pop and it almost immediately started bruising. Jonathan and I, appropriately, began freaking the fuck out. But she was like "it's ok, let's just go home." We do just that.

The next day, I was laying catatonically on my bed, one with the television, as I was wont to do on Sunday afternoons in the summer. Cause, you know, it was fuckin hot and I was fat. Lo and behold, I get a call from Tori, who is holding the phone with her freshly broken hand. Told ya we should have gone to the doctor.

That event garnered my truck the diabolical moniker "The Truck of Pain." She wouldn't even go near it, except to form a cross with her fingers and yell "TRUCK OF PAIN! TRUCK OF PAIN!" at it. Pretty metal, if you ask me.

I had that truck for another year. It finally died, and I got a nice new Ford Ranger as a replacement, because dad had to live up to a promise he made to me in fourth grade that said if I got a full ride to college, I got a car. Goddamn right I called him on it! Anyway, this truck was much nicer than my old pieceofshit. So nice, in fact, that I danced a jig in the bed when I first showed Tori, Shannon, and Amy. It was, from then on, named "The Truck of Mirth and Merriment." My brother got that truck eventually and wrecked it. Dumbass.

Good times.

-Baby Huey

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