I have had it up to here with you. I took care of you, got you oil changes, rotated your tires faithfully, and this is how you repay me. Breaking down four times in four weekends. Eating all my money. And now, having a catalytic converter that I could replace if only anyone could figure out which fucking one it was because apparently in the year of your birth, Honda gave its Civics 372 different types of catalytic converters.
I was just down on my knees in the parking lot getting dirt and strange black gunk all over myself trying to figure out your inner workings, and I am ever so not amused.
I'm going to say this very slowly so you'll understand it: You are in big trouble. You are not allowed to break down again until I have gotten $2000 worth of reliable transportation out of you.
You know your very cool name that ptwarhol gave to you? Batgirl? It's hereby revoked until you can learn to comport yourself with efficiency and competence, much like Batgirl. Until then, you're hereby known as Piece of Shit.
And I mean it,