The Queermobile is in new hands. Yesterday it suffered a catastrophic loss of radiator fluid, which turned out to be because the entire bottom of the radiator had rusted out. This dysfunction, combined with several other rapidly deteriorating conditions which have inspired a whole voodoo routine of bizarre habits (pray once, insert key, mash brake five times, turn key, pray once, mash brake three times, turn key, etc....) just to get the thing running and keep it that way long enough to reach the destination (wobble wobble wobble - are you sure the wheels will stay on?), makes for a nice hefty repair bill that, when added to the insurance and registration due next month, becomes something on the order of several grand. I ain't got several grand right now, and neither does anybody I know, and in its condition, I couldn't even get the machine home. Not that the Fascist Condo Association of America would have let me bring it home anyway.

So, Walter at the shop offered to buy it off me. I won't tell you for how much.

The Jolly Goth has said that he can let us use the hearse tomorrow to retrieve the mattress Napalm and I had just bought when the radiator gave up. I hope Walter doesn't have a heart attack when we get there. 

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