Mr. Barnum, Please, Meet Mr. Cruiser

Since I have been slacking in the worst possible way, I thought that I would crank out something that is akin to a fast food meal – mostly fatty, high sodium, carb heavy filler a.k.a. No substance.

I have always thought that the PT Cruiser was an odd car. A car that I could never see myself, or anyone that I could possibly know, in one. It is slightly ugly, but not in a “it's a cute kind of ugly” ugly. It's just plain ugly. I have talked to people that I have seen driving a PT Cruiser and, before I can utter a “hello” they are quick to blurt out that (take your pick) “it's a loaner car from the dealership”, “it's my mom's car, I'm just filling her tank for her”, “my wife has my super macho, very manly, big penis truck”...I could go on but, I think that you are getting the general idea. It is this quick response that always has intrigued me (not so much so as to go out and purchase one of my own).

There has to be pretty close to a billion of these abominations of these four wheeled creatures creeping around the American roadways. It seems that everywhere you turn, there seems to be one. You can find them hanging out in the parking lot of Wal-Mart's and parked out front of the fancy of fancy night clubs. This fucking car doesn't seem to have a designated status class with which to identify itself with. Or better yet, the owners themselves don't have one. Strangely enough, though, nobody seems to own them. I did see the owner of one continually search over his shoulders before entering his vehicle (I was hiding in the bushes to see who owned this contraption (actually, I needed to answer the call of nature (my algebra teacher (Mr. Awe) would be so proud of me with what I am about to do (although my English teacher (Mrs. Sharpe) wouldn't be so impressed))).

My least favorite (and possibly the Beckster's) PT is the convertible. Why? This thing is not a sports car that everyone envisions cruising the PCH (to remember what the coastal highway was called, I, literally had to sleep on it, stupid, I'll delete this later) with the top down and two love birds with their respective hair blowing in the wind. The sun shining and the gods of good fortune smiling down on these wonderfully happy PT owners. Doves of peace trail in the aerodynamic wash of a finely tuned machine because the doves know that wherever the PT goes so goes the elements of peace, hope and charity. The ground that the PT travels down becomes sacred and people from miles around make a trek to touch the soil/asphalt/pavement to be healed.

But, here is where my cynicism may play against me and a whole host of other people who believe as I do. You have to suspend belief to follow me on this next part..Becky is by far much hotter than any wood paneled PT Cruiser out there...What if the PT Cruiser is the greatest vehicle ever produced and only a very few know about this? What if this vehicle is the perfect ride; comfort, power, handling, all the comfort creatures that one would ever want, etc.? I could only imagine that there is a secret society in which owners get together and go on midnight rides, laying rubber across America's roadways. Much like the Knights Templar, they are powerful people that wield their influence throughout the world. My head spins at the mere thought of all of this. Before purchasing one of these vehicles, is there a panel that decides who gets to own one? Ferrari, BMW & Porsche owners cower in the company of the PT overlords, I can only assume.

So, I go from hatred to jealousy. From revolt to revelry. From abhorrence to admiration. Just kidding. I still hate the PT Cruiser.