Mad Atoms

Esteemed members of Congress,

I come before the House of Representatives today in the hopes that I may be heard. I say this not with malice or expectancy. Instead, I come before you a broken man, with a broken ass car.

In light of the looming US auto industry bailout proposal, before this House I humbly make a ‘bro’posal to you, as buds, to bail me out of my 1988 Ford Festiva. With all due respect, knowledgeable souls of governance, this thing is a flaming piece of shit left on the doorstep of an auto industry that has long-ago forgotten its heritage of quality. This is your doorbell ringing, this is the moment of action. And with your size 10 wing-tip bailout, we can squash the failures of my flaming fucktard Festiva as easily as if it were never manufactured with crumple zones or airbags. Which it was not.

The colossal shortcomings of my late-80’s Ford Failure need not be documented so thoroughly here; a shortlist of auto grievances will suffice. To begin, my driver’s side window refuses to budge in either direction, leaving a one inch gap along all seams to ensure that I neither get the cooling effects of an afternoon breeze, or the safety of full enclosure in a rainstorm.

I have given up on my seat belts and my odometer, both rendered useless when their basic mechanisms degraded into a laughable state of rattling pieces. And my blinkers, I am ashamed to say, are the greatest offenders: when I signal left, my right light engages, and vice-versa. I say to you now, ladies and gentlemen, that blinkers divided against themselves cannot stand!

The current bailout plan in front of you costs just over $17 billion (very likely much more), making my meager request a pittance to yourselves and the ‘Big Three’. Please keep in mind, members of Congress, that this is public money, raised through taxes, that have already been earmarked for other noble causes, such as education or housing or a sophisticated "Shoe Defense System" to protect the President.

In closing, I would like to call upon two important pieces of data. First, the total cost of the requested bailout repairs for my 1988 Ford Festiva (which is coincidently broken down on Main Street) is: $746.88. I know that this is more than three times the resale rate for my downtrodden jalopy, but I am simply a lowly pizza delivery man, destined forever to try to push the limits of ’30 minutes or less’ with my 56-horsepower metal coffin.

And secondly, need I remind this assembly of politicos that this car is a Ford. As one of the Big Three, I feel that Ford owes me a favor for purchasing such a turdbox of automotive idiocy, and they could surely repay me with a simple check.

Ladies and gentlemen, this bailout would not be a gift, but rather a loan; a promise to pay back every cent of that money, by delivering piping hot slices to a needy population, while enjoying the comfort of a rolled-down window and a sing-along to the chorus of Enter Sandman. That, my Congress, is America.