Pope Jon wrote:
My name is Aranea. I'm a black 1997 Pontiac Grand Prix, and my owner is a white 1990 Human Pope Jon.
Here he comes now, early as ever. He needs me to get to work, and I need him to flaunt my exotic beauty to other cars. I wait eagerly for him to shove his key into my ignition. As soon as he turns the key, I roar to life. A bit louder than usual, but that's just the way we like it.
He gives me some time to warm up, and I can't wait to share my heat with him. I always feel guilty, seeing him there shivering from the morning frost, but I know before long he won't even need my heat. As he waits, he puts on his music, then skips songs without any reasonable pattern until he finds one he likes.
With the music cranked louder than my mighty engine, we take off. As we make our way to work, I often feel insecure about my abilities. I can rarely honk my horn, so if the Pope needs to alert other driver's, he has to shift me into neutral and rev my engine. Despite my guilt, how well he understands me makes me feel loved and appreciated. He never complains about my left indicator not working, and is always singing to me as we drive.
I wait for him in the parking structure as he works, and take him home as usual after he's done. Today, as usual, he lets me rest after he's done with work, and I am grateful. As I get settled in for the night, he enters the house with his food from Campana De Taco. I sigh at the sight of his rump, and wish we could be more than just friends.
Dana Lee wrote:
My first car will always be my favorite car. It was a 1994 Saturn. Her name was Winky because one of the pop-up headlights would not go down as it was supposed to. When the car would shift, the transmission would often shift so hard that it would lurch you forward. I would joke that it felt as if the car were just making a big poop or farting. Yeah, I am classy.
Photo complements of: http://www.autodetective.com/_upload/photos/saturn/s-series/1994/56565.jpg
I want my owner to love me. I really do. However, I often feel rejection from her as if I am not good enough for her. I know ladies are not supposed to fart but sometimes you just have to let it out. I am hoping that she will take me to get looked at. I would really like to see a doctor in order to take care of this serious problem. I really enjoy her nickname for me. She loving calls me Winky because one of my eyes is stuck open. I do not mind though. It allows me to always see what is going on around me and watch my surroundings. It is one of my favorite things! I hope we are friends until the very end!
Chuck C. wrote:
The sun peaked up over the horizon, its rays kissing my windshield, beginning the process of evaporating the morning dew that covered it. Nights are lonely and often I find them near unbearable. All is made better though when he comes out to go about his daily rigors. At seven he emerges and gets my engine started, warming it sufficiently so it’s nice and warm inside me. When he parks me in his high school parking lot and leaves me again for 8 hours, I long for his return. At three he comes back, and we are together once again. It’s always pure bliss to serve one’s purpose. Although he drives me for a scant hour a day, I will always be there, awaiting him. Waiting for him to need me defines my life. I will serve him as long he needs me, or as long as I am able.
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