Doan Courant

The semi-whenever newsletter for one of the many Doan Families.

Saturday, December 16, 2006

Sly ole' Lucifer

My car is from hell. Actually, the car is from Japan--the designers are from hell. Well, they may not be from hell, but they are definitely going there. Why do I know that they are going to hell? They have conspired with sly ole' Lucifer, or, as they refer to him in the car business, "efficiency."
Several years ago (circa 1999), a anonymous design engineer (Phil Urup) at an anonymous car company (Honda) looked under the hood of a car thinking about a new way to design the area under the hood of a car. As he gazed and pondered, he notice something--that he did not notice anything. He saw that in the engine compartment was a great deal of empty, unused space. He thought to himself out loud, "Why should we have all this empty, unused space under the hood of a car . . . (car) . . . (car). Hello . . . (hello) . . . (hello). " He then thought to himself in loud, "We need to do something about this gratuitous waste of space, what with global warming and overpopulation and AlGore and all."
Back in the 70's, commonly known as the "Platinum Era of Engine-Area Empty Space," cars had enough room under the hood to hide the entire English House of Lords (without wigs). This was great, especially into the 80's when the average South-Floridian immigrant could hide several "kilos" of "blow" in the engine compartment. However, storing stuffy English parliamentarians and pricey Columbian narcotics was not the original purpose of the empty space. The original purpose of the space, as noted in Daryl Walltrip's Field and Stream bestselling book, The Emptying of the Empty Space, was to give hack household mechanics, like myself, room to work on the engine. Any person, including Andre' the Giant and Rosie O'Donnell, could effortless tune and tone the engine. Anyone could, that is, until Mr. Let's-be-efficient-and-save-the-green-planet-engineer/goblin decided to do away with the empty space. Now, there is more mechanical items in the engine compartment of the average mid-sized family sedan than is in the entire 51st Fighter Squadron. I will admit that this is an engineering marvel on par with the Hoover Dam, Golden Gate Bridge, and the retractable Sharpie. That doesn't make it any easier to fix. I just completed an attempt to change the spark plugs on my 2001 Mazda MPV. I failed. I could not use my 7 1/2 tools to fulfill such a simple task. Currently, my knuckles look like I just got into a fight with a guy with broken shards of glass on his face. In the 70's, blind quadriplegics could change the plugs on a 1970 Dodge Challenger. Also, they and four friends could also live under the hood. Now, I couldn't fit a wingless gnat in the engine no matter how hard I tried.
This is undoubtedly a conspiracy. I believe that, starting with Lee Iacocca, all automotive engineers, in order to become an automotive engineer, must sell their soul to the devil. The devil then uses them (the soulless engineers) to drive all of mankind into foul frenzy of frustration. This has to be one of Luci's greatest techniques. What no man would do in calmness, every man will do in frustration. I don't know if there is a solution to this, other than blowing up every car-manufacturing plant on the planet, though that does seem a bit extreme. I cannot, however, be held accountable for my actions when I attempt to change the turning-light on my car. Caveat machinator!
That is all.

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