Ed was looking for british car jokes.
I went scrounging through my old notes from when I edited
"At Speed" the newsletter for a british car club that
I was in.
this is some of what I found:
You know you've owned a british car too long when:
You always park facing down hill.
The guy at the parts store:
gets a cheesy grin when he sees you walk in
is listed as a dependant on your 1040
sends you a get well card if you haven't bought parts for 2 weeks
recognizes your voice on the phone
You buy a parts car, and not even you believe that you will part it out.
You hear head job and think of adjusting valves
You get in a car and are surprised
when all of the instruments work
you can carry on a conversation, without shouting
by it not need oil, or brake fluid, or anti-freeze...
You get in a car and are NOT surprised by
A spare battery
A tool kit that fills half of the boot
A slightly singed instrument panel
You actually like the smell of chemtool
You hear someone talk about new shoes, and assume they are doing their brakes
You call AAA and THEY recognize your voice too.
You look under the bonnet and see
More duct tape than hose
More electrical tape than wires
You tell your wife that the reason that you were out till 3AM was that
the car broke down, and she believes you.
The people you live with are no longer phased by sitting down to dinner
and sharing half the table with carburettors
You pay more visits to the parts store than the gas station,
or the grocery store.
Your car makes a funny sound and you immediately know:
what is wrong
how much the part will cast
what tools will be required
Your generator dies, so you just pull one off of the lucas pile in the garage
You distrust anyone named Lucas.
People ask how many cars you own, and you respond in fractional numbers.
You wash your hands when working on your car,
so that you don't get the engine compartment dirty.
You budget 4 hours for a trip, 3 for driving, 1 for repairs.
You bought the car to attract members of the opposite sex,
but no longer have time or money to go out on a date.
You know about the hole into the 4th dimension in the Austin America
engine compartment that eats 1/2" and 9/16" spanners.
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My friend Paul Kile wrote this poem:
Crowbar, Golden Crowbar,
High and mighty are Thee!
Whilst I tear apart an engine,
You are a friend to me!
You wait in gleaming silence
Amid the clamps and nuts,
A powerful force to aid me
In ripping out it's guts!
When I grip your shining hadle
To attack the heads and block,
You instill in my the Confidence
Of a loyal and reverent Schlock!
============================
Many years ago I was part of a bunch of loonies,
known collectively as BAFD (British Auto Fanatics of Davis)
Mike Pondsmith (of role playing game fame) wrote up this
flyer that we would distribute to likely looking candidates:
RULE BRITTANIA!!
You wouldn't be looking at this if you didn't have a british car.
We know you, You're the poor slob with the Lucas Electrical System
that Immolates itself like a Valkyrie every time you turn on the headlamps.
You're the guy that calls his hood a "bonnet" and his top a "hood".
You rummage around in the dark under your car looking for that "Whitworth"
spanner that slipped down the crack into the core of your "Smiths's"
heater.
Furthermore, you're the person who's been leaving a perpetual trail
of oil leaking from somewhere in the lowere engine region. You have to order
parts from Jolley Old England Herself (God Save Her!) and wait 6 months
for them to arrive by slowboat via Hong Kong. When you go into Grand Auto the
salesmen all gather around you and either laugh or yell
"Hey, Joe! Lookee what this dude just brought in! You ever seen a
1952 Humber Super Snipe?". Whe you bought this car you bought a '77
Toyota as well, because you knew you'd spen 65% of your time working
on a British Beast.
Take heart, You're not the only one with a stiffed upper lip.
We know you, because we're pretty much like you. We (yeah the whole
bloody lot of us) are all charter members of B.A.F.D. (British Auto
Fanatics of Davis), and we think just like you. We didn't buy the car as
transportation, but because it's fun. Any fool can own a Honda Civic, but
how many of us have the unflinching nerve to tackle a Lucas Starter at 3:30 AM,
on a rainy highway tem miles out of Bemidji Minnisota? How many would bother?
But if you have a personal love for british Iron, maybe you should join the
asylum we've established. No dues, pay as you go, with plenty of
driving, wrenching, partying and English Ale to keep your spirits up.
You don't have to be crazy to join B.A.F.D
Just own a British Car.
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Cartoon of the Enterprise (Star Trek NCC-1275 or somesuch)
with the caption
"Scotty! What the hell do you mean Our S.U. fuel pump is dead,
and there ism't a Leyland supply house within 4 Parsecs??!!"
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LRC
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