I love cars.

I've been desperately trying to get rid of my Mom's 1995 Mazda 626 for going on five years now. Most of the delay was this surreal paper chase through the state bureaucracy that would have made the application paperwork for Emperor in ancient China look simple by comparison. However, I *finally* have the car in *my* name, with current registration. Last we left our abandoned white-trashmobile, the transmission had a clearly fatal problem, but other than a dead battery, the car was drivable. A transmission repair has been more than the car is worth for the entire time, so I wasn't expected to get much for it, but after sinking about $200 into all the title bullshit plus a new battery, now the engine won't start because there's no fuel. I got tired of fighting airwings of mosquitoes tonight, and decided to wait until tomorrow to see if I can find the wires for the fuel pump. I found another valve wire that had been eaten through by rats, so I'm hoping that maybe it's just a bad wire and won't require replacing the fuel pump, because at that point I'm giving up and having it towed away.

At any rate, it will be gone soon, and hopefully I can at least get a few hundred for it.

Revelations

The revelation that people's cats are gay seems often to be featured in my subconscious's musical parody subroutine, along with several less PC things.