Built Chevy Tough

Built Chevy Tough: The Man

As I drive along this sacrilegious parkway, I kiss my steering wheel tenderly. The taste of its rough leather brings a smile to my face and a tinge of red to my cheeks. In the rearview mirror, I see my Chevy Silverado's gas fill the atmosphere with its holiness. The parkway is set into a gray haze and I forget about the pedestrian plague. Suddenly, a wild animal jumps in front of my Chevy Silverado (LT Trail Boss) and frightens me half to death. I swing the steering wheel far to the right and slam into one of this forest's many ferocious trees. My head and the airbag ram into each other with just about as much force as Johnny's Sugar Crush drink. I feel fizzy. My wrists are turned at an angle that I've only seen with icky newborns and the smell of blood wafts from the top of my head. Ribs broken, kneecaps shattered, skull severely jostled; it was one heck of a wreck! Out of the corner of my eye, I see that guilty fucker prance back into the center of the road and stare at what it has created.

I am grateful to this beast for reasons including but not limited to my wife becoming pregnant with our third child, my boss deciding to give Dave the promotion instead of me, those darn liberals hiking up my gas prices, and my six-year-old son calling me a "poopy-pants." This world, which is run by a conglomerate of asinine urbanites, has shunned car lovers like me to no end. They have converted our children into pedestrians and have pushed such silly things as "sustainability" down our throats - effectively making my life a living hell. I've had enough! Life is throwing needle after needle onto my back, just like this pine tree that has speared itself through the windshield of my precious all-wheel drive baby. It almost tickles my nose. I cannot take any more of this!

I twist my right arm out from under the dashboard, a 13.4" diagonal Chevrolet Infotainment 3 Premium System with Google built-in. It was beautiful! I open the car door and push myself out of the newly contorted metal sculpture. My beloved is in no shape to get back on the road anytime soon. The in-laws should be fine without seeing me for a little longer. It's not like they love me or anything! It's the wife's fault for organizing this, trying to improve our relationship, or whatever.

I stand in front of my Chevy Silverado, just off of the moist asphalt, and a sense of petrichor suddenly hits me. Rain remnants are mixing with the gray haze to create the staple of my Chevy Silverado: smog. It sits heavily in the air with its odor wafting deep into my nostrils; almost like I'm back with my father in the smoker's lounge. The moon's light can get only a few fingers of light through the smog to illuminate my Chevy Silverado. The color of the hydrangea bushes that line this road fades away, bowing down to the might of this century's greatest machine.

I look over to see, a few yards away, the creature that sent me into the broad side of a sturdy pine. This round chipmunk stands tall on its hind legs and twitches its ear. The smog swirls in a fury past frail shrubbery and settles at the chipmunk's feet. It grows steadily to about the height of three Chevy Silverados stacked atop one another. The smog merges into the chipmunk leaving water droplets to form all over its fur, from the chipmunk's toe beads up to its fidgeting paws and twitching ears. There is minimal space between me and this monster towering over me. It's not the best view.

"You know what you have to do, Richard," bellows the chipmunk from above.

I stare back, blood slowly running down the back of my head to my neck. My khaki pants get a tad wetter than they were before. I cough loudly to establish dominance.

"Heh?" I say.

The chipmunk starts moving its right paw for my face, but I'm smarter than that! "Watch yourself!" I yell at the varmint. "I'll get my gun if you're not careful. It's massive!" My threat does not sway the giant chipmunk as it moves its paw towards me. I try to get away but-

"AAGGHHH!"

"You mustn't move Richard! Just listen to me." the chipmunk says.

The monster moves its paw to sit behind me just in time for me to fall into its fluffy comfort. I feel like I'm sinning.

"Your Chevy Silverado, with a custom 8-speed automatic transmission, is on its last wheel. You two have been together for a long and fruitful 6 months. Y'all have been through hail, simmering heat, and dozens of parking tickets. In its final moments, it is only right for you to be by its side as you both enter the next world. You must suck the last drop of gas out from the exhaust pipe!"

"Oh?" this chipmunk has piqued my interest.

"That's right, Richard." the chipmunk says as its beady eyes stare into my eyes. "The Holy Chevy will look ever so kindly upon you if you fulfill my request."

With the last word, some pungent odor I couldn't identify arose and the chipmunk quickly shrunk back to its original size. It scampered all over the place until it finally reached the brush and disappeared. I was all alone once again. I hardly believe what my senses tell me, though to be fair, my senses probably aren't in their best gear at the moment.

Anyways, who gave the chipmunk this kind of authority? What say does it have over my relationship with my Chevy Silverado? It just doesn't add up. Despite all of that, its apparent connection to the Holy Chevy makes it worth my trust. The chipmunk's consideration for the struggles that this world has put us through gives me hope that it works by the Chevy Commandments, especially when such respect is given to my precious Chevy Silverado that comes with capless fuel fill! I shall fulfill the chipmunk's request.

A trail of blood follows me to the back of my Chevy Silverado with rear towing capabilities and a spacious cargo space engineered for a family getaway. Even more remarkable than all of those features is the exhaust pipe. Every time I look at my Chevy's rear, my eyes dart frantically to that glorious pipe as it burns with the intense passion that only a fossil-powered engine can create. I suddenly feel my mouth watering. My Chevy Silverado is lying in upturned mud tracks against the wall of the forest with a plethora of tree limbs dangling overhead. I hear an owl's "hoot" and a plane fly across the sky. I stare into the exhaust pipe's glory, an exemplary symbol of American progress, and take one last crisp breath before committing to my true love.