Dear Demon Volvo,

Dear Demon Volvo,

 

What up, Chicken Butt?  I thought we were cool?  We are such a good team…me being all cute and happy and you being all cute and happy with your sparkly Nautic Blue Metallic paint?  You know that’s my favorite Volvo color ever, right?  Don’t I take good care of you?  The car wash, fluids always topped off, oil always changed on time?  Is it because I use regular unleaded instead of Supreme?  Do you not like the Febreze clips I use?  I’ll bet it was the kids leaving empty juice boxes on your leather, right?  Was it the kids?  I’ll bet it was the kids.

Because how else do you explain your recent possessed attitude?  The stalling in the middle of an intersection that got me honked at?  The lurch, loss of power and then taking off?  We’ve had you at the mechanic, a really expensive good one who drove you for a week and you didn’t do it once. He replaced the o2 sensor thinking that may stop the problem but noooooo.   Mark drives you whenever I tell him it’s happened and you fly like the little Swedish race horse that you are.

And yet today finds you on your way back to the mechanic because yesterday you nearly stranded me out in the middle of nowhere.  I was on a simple errand to pick up hamburger, foolishly thinking that I would be 10 minutes there and back.  Eventually I got you started again amid much smoke and stink of hot car and sulfur…yes, sulfur.

Now I’ve read enough paranormal books to know what sulfur means.  It means possessed shit is going on.  Demons.  I don’t know how, but I’ll get you help.  Holy water in the antifreeze?  Hanging rosary beads from the mirror?  Pour a circle of salt around you every time I park?  Ain’t this just a bitch, Volvo?  You’re going along, all cute and zippy and BLAM!  Demon possession..  Never you fear, Cheeky Volvo.  I hear the priest at St. Mary’s is really nice and probably won’t call in the men in white coats if I ask him for an exorcism.

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