Congratulations on Your New Car!

On Thursday you’re going to purchase a new car. It’ll be your first new car ever, a Mazda Protégé purchased with money from the economic stimulus package. It’ll be an absurd misappropriation of government funds for personal gain, and you’ll relish every penny.

Oddly enough, however, when you get home and start checking the car out you and your wife will discover several bodies in the back. Panicked, you’ll call the dealer and inform him that your car was, in fact, used as it, like most used cars you’ve purchased over the years, was filled with corpses.

The dealer will be very apologetic, but will insist that the car is new and that his company maintains a stalwart “no backsies” policy. As such he will offer a slightly better finance package, but will steadfastly refuse to exchange the car for another model.

You’ll be furious with him, swearing for a solid minute and a half, but as a car dealer who sells mostly to shady, overpaid investment bankers with little moral sense and less courage he knows that you’ll give up soon enough.

Sure enough, after two minutes of shouting your voice will start to crack and you’ll hang up, already assaulted by vaguely homoerotic thoughts which you feel would somehow threaten the car dealer as much as they threaten you. You’ll yell at your wife across the house that that faggot car salesman wouldn’t offer you a new model and she’ll roll her eyes as she shouts back that that’s just too bad.

Frustrated, you’ll call your mafia contact, Tony, and he’ll send a few guys over to deal with the bodies. Then you’ll have awkward unsatisfactory sex with your wife and go to sleep.

The moment your eyes close your head will be filled with tortured dreams. Your every nightmare will come to light, every forbidden thought aired to your colleagues. Your father will live once more and your mother will be out of the home and cooking for you in your kitchen.

You’ll wake time and time again, screaming, into a new nightmare. When dawn finally comes you’ll be soaked through t and your wife will be above you, concerned.

You spent the entire night screaming and eventually she had to move to the couch just to get some rest. When you didn’t wake up at six and start screaming about Jews she thought something might be wrong, so she came up and dumped a bucket of water on you.

That day you’ll call the car dealer once again, complaining of the nightmare visions which accompanied your recent purchase. He’ll simply laugh menacingly and inform you that his dealership cannot be held responsible for any paranormal activity experienced by the purchaser. Then he’ll hang up.

You’ll be too unnerved, after the horrible night and his unearthly calm the previous day, to call him back. You’ll just go about your day as normal, driving to work in your new Mazda. The day will go by without incident, an eerie way for events to proceed given the previous night. It’ll all be horrifyingly mundane, that is until you begin your evening commute.

You’ll be shocked when, during the ride home, Abraham Lincoln’s image appears in the rear view mirror. You’ll turn around and see nothing, but when you look in the mirror again he’ll be there, sitting cool as a cucumber in your backseat. Then he’ll speak in a stenorian voice that shakes your very being.

He’ll tell you that you’re a terrible man, worse than a war profiteer. He’ll tell you that all you’ve done in your pathetic little life is pursue material gains and that he has returned from the afterworld to render vengeance for the fraud you’ve committed against both the people and government of the United States. But he’ll call it the Union.

Then he’ll smile grimly as you scream no, informing you that the rest of your brief life will be spent in the most profound mental anguish imaginable and that you’ve always been gay.

This will break your fragile little mind and you’ll hurry home to start weeping on your wife’s dress. She’ll roll her eyes and try to calm you down until its bed time. Then she’ll head to the couch, assuming that you’re going to scream all night again.

But you won’t. Tonight you’ll be silent, laying awake in your bed waiting for the horrors to come. This is how you’ll die, horrified in your bed, praying against sleep, murdered with an axe by Abraham Lincoln’s ghost.

Congratulations on your new car, asshole!