Join the Club

So, we were walking through the parking lot of our apartment complex today after playing tennis and I was struck by the abject shittiness of one car in particular. Every complex has one. I'm sure you've seen one before. Hell, for all I know you saw the exact one I saw.

It's usually an early-to-late 90s model K-car of some sort. Hubcaps missing. Some sort of "pleasant" odor producing contraption either fighting for attention with the fuzzy dice from the rearview or mounted, proudly and permanently, to the dashboard.

The exterior is in rough shape. It appears to, at one time, been some shade of matte blue, but now, not only has Rusty Jones left the building, he's a vindictive bastard and seemingly used a spray bottle to douse the car with sulfuric acid on his way out the door.

The bumper, half-falling off, is adorned with such stickers as "Motorcycles Are Everywhere!", "This Car Climbed Mt. Washington" (in 1992...not shown), and "My Other Car is a Piece of Shit, Too".

A brief look at the upholstery reveals what must have been the battleground for the knife fight between Ralph Macchio and Leif Garrett, displaying more stuffing than one would see on Thanksgiving.

You know the car, right? Hell, for all I know, you OWN the car.

But here's where it gets weird.

I look inside and cradled awkwardly on the steering wheel, is this:

Minus the key, of course.

I immediately asked myself, "What self-aggrandising son of a bitch would put a CLUB on a piece of shit car like this?"

And then I look at the dashboard and get my answer:

The same self-aggrandising son of a bitch who really thinks this is going to drown out the stench of uncleaned gym gear, Drakkar, and the wrappers from countless filets-o-fish:

Anyway, I can't believe the owner of the car is afraid of it getting stolen. If I owned it, I'd leave the doors open and the keys in the ignition. And let's not forget...the Club will only protect the car if someone attempts to actually drive off in it. That self-installed FM/Cassette stereo which hasn't worked the same since it ate a pirated version of Aerosmith's "Pump" (gag!), is still fair game as is the various and sundry fillets-o-fish wrappers and King Shithead's crown (above), if the thief can get the industrial-strength adhesive off.

The Club.

Now, this was funny in Swingers, one because they lived in L.A. and they steal everything that isn't nailed down out there and two, because the movie took place in 1996 and a lot of cars didn't come with, uh, I dunno, ALARMS!

Truth be told, if your car isn't good enough for an alarm, it really isn't good enough for the Club either. And I know what you are whining..."But Diiiiimmmmm.....the fact that I don't have an alarm is precisely WHY I need a Club!"

And I only have one thing to say to that argument:

Shut up. Nobody likes a whiner.

My car has an alarm. OK, I admit it...my car has a faux alarm. It is six years old and there is a light above the steering column that scoldingly blinks SECURITY while the car is unoccupied. This is apparently more intimidating than a fucking Club, because my insurance company actually allows me a minute discount for having a light flash in my car that does absolutely nothing else.

In fact, if someone were to try to steal my car, I'm convinced that my big, bad SECURITY light will run away, terrified, and a Judas-esque WELCOME, MR. GRAND THEFT AUTO, SIR light will take its place. In fact, I'm also convinced that after said thief feloniously takes my car, William Daniels' voice will flood the interior and announces that "Dim's registration, which has his home address, is cleverly stuffed between pages of the car manual, in case you feel like paying him a visit and stealing all of his other shit."

You know, now that I think of it, maybe that self-aggrandising son of a bitch is right. Maybe the Club IS the way to go. At least when KITT turns against me, I'll be able to smash its control module into oblivion with the friggin thing. Because I know that day is coming. And I'm gonna be ready.

- Dim.