i don't know why it won't start. when i turn the key, it makes the starty noise but the engine won't go. is it out of fuel?   | no, the petrol gauge still reads an eighth of a tank. diesel gauge. | i don't know where that is. no, it's not a petrol gauge, it's a diesel gauge. trucks run on diesel. | oh, i didn't know that. it doesn't matter. perhaps the gauge is faulty or... | bob, jump in and try to start it again. okely dokely. | much useless cranking followed by equally useless name calling, vilifying the manufacturers of little bits of rubber whilst simultaneously questioning their heritage and sexual practices. | is the cussing helpful? not so you'd notice. | is it another bad news/bad news situation? not if you always wanted a diesel showering device cunningly disguised as a dump truck. | otherwise, it's more of a grab-your-ankles-and-think-of-the-motherland situation. oh... | g, you said you've never owned a car, right? affirmative. | how do you know so much about all this stuff then? oh, how do i know anything about anything? |
by Lliam Amor, Dan Beeston and the Goatlord.
©2009 Dan Beeston
A faulty gauge is such a joy to the diagnostically inclined. And I'm not talking about those wacky mountain climbing medicos.
What am I talking about..?
Can't have been very important.
Or it was and you are all now doomed because of my sieve like mind.
Where is the mind anyway? Is it kept in the brain? Around it? In our back pockets? I don't have any back pockets...
Are we just a bunch of electrical impulses stuck inside some gooey mass?
If I create a jumper between some unrelated electrical impulses, do I become someone else? That might be nice...
But it's all probably related anyway so, in the words of Metallica:
"There's whiskey in the jar."
No, that's not ... fuck it, it'll do.
