David

So, I'm driving through the Canadian Rockies with my best friend in my 1986' Chevy Celebrity (don't be jealous) and the muffler blows off the back of the car while we're practically driving down into a ravine between two huge mountains. When we roll into the little town at the bottom of the dip, dragging the muffler behind us shooting out sparks like a firework, we somehow find the only mechanic in this one-horse town. We trust our car to him, being four thousand miles away from home without any options, only to later find his true identity from the other townsfolk - "Whiskey-lips". Sure enough, when we call about our car the next day after camping in a tent under a bridge, instead of telling us the car was ready, we learned some new fabulous curse words I just can't wait to try out. I guess that was just his way of saying that the car was ready.