Art of Selling Junk

Original Title: Starting Over, Subsidized Cars, The Art of Selling Junk

The weather broke this week in Germania. It’s an enjoyable time when the weather does this. Not so much because of the sunshine, the bier gardens, the easy women, but instead because I always feel that the sky of winter is finally off my back. Seriously. During the nine month winter season (there are only two season here, the other is summer) I always feel as though I can walk out into the misery and touch the f’n gray, dark, gloomy sky. Yeah, a thing Das Volk owns.

So let’s blog today about the sun coming out and what that can do to (a) human psyche (mine?) and show that, at least for a short time, why the national symbol for most Germans should be Sour Puss.


Before we continue let’s tangent into the world of those who think optimistically and believe in nature and all that tree-hugging krapp. It’s been a particularly difficult winter for the overly passive and falsely Green Das Volk. I think that some Germanins are starting to face the reality that building and subsidising all the massive and resource hugging automobiles for Das Volk might actually be adding to some of this global warming stuff. No. Seriously. I mean it. I’m almost serious.

So that there’s no confusion. Here’s my take on global warming in a few sentences. With this I make no political claim or affiliation – in that sense, I’m quite agnostic.

IMHO Al Gore and others are on the wrong path regarding the mess the planet is in. To me it’s not about emissions or fossil fuel, waste and greed. I believe that the whole ”green” discussion should be about responsibility either. It should be about western corporatism that is redefining things such as fascism, imperialism and, goodness forbid, feminism. The discussion/debate should be about the fact that Man, if left to so-called unchecked free-will, will do anything he can do and he will never do what he should do. See my post on Macbeth – and, if you haven’t, read that play right now. I am not advocating ”government” and all that that entails here. If anything, I’m advocating humanity and all that that should entail.

Digress 1.

Over 60 % of all company cars sold in Germany are corporate right-offs. That means a very large portion of Audi A4, A6, A8, the VW Passat and that stupid Phaeton, BMW 3, 5 and 7 series, all Mercedes in the E, C and above classes, etc., etc., are state subsidized. They are cars leased by the employers of Das Volk and then provided to employees – who have to pay extra tax on them. Indeed, Das Volk, if not Eurowastelanders in general, love paying taxes. Keep in mind that a huge portion of Das Volk and their well-made vehicles would never be on z’Autobahn if it weren’t for z’government intervention because no Kraut under the age of fifty that didn’t inherit more than, I don’t know, let’s say, two-hundred thousand euros by the time he/she was thirty, can actually work for a living and then afford these cars. (I won’t even get into the taxes for owning and operating an Auto.) We should all be thanking those really brilliant and over educated PhD dudes that run Das Volk auto-industry and z’country for creating such a beautifully marginalized life of driving.

Digress 2.

Today when the sun was shinning my girlfriend asked me before she left for work in the wee hours if I would spring clean her car. Sure, I said. When I finally got out of bed, had some breakfast, drank my share of coffee, wrote about three thousand words, I jumped in her little sports car (it’s a Chinese made MG!) and drove off to the wash-n-go place. It’s best to wash this type of car with those spray guns – you know, avoid anything that could potentially be abrasive. Call me a stickler for poorly made, albeit cool branded cars – although this car was ”designed” by the Brits, it’s made in China – I try to look after it and see to it that it will actually last a few years. I know. Wishful thinking.

When I was finished washing the MG I proceeded to wipe it down, clean the windows, vacuum the interior. Luckily it is a small car so it doesn’t take long – I had to get back to writing another two thousand words, you know. Just as I was about to wrap up everything and head home to a typwriter, a guy pulled along side me at the car wash and stuck his head out the window.

-Ciao. Parlate Italiano?, he said.

-Sorry there, bud, but my Italian is real bad.

He gestured to my beard that has been growing for the past two weeks and has taken on a really cool grayness. I think he said something like he thought I looked Italian. Which is not far from the truth at all. Especially when I have a tan.

-Desidero dare qualcosa voi, he said.

He reached into the back of his car (a fairly new – and subsidized? – VW Passat?) and showed me a fine leather coat that was perfectly packaged. I stared at him as he tried to hand me the leather coat.

-Che formato Ë voi?

-Dude, what the fuck is the matter with you. I only look Italian, I said.

-Watt iz you zize, huh?

-Do you mean size? You want my ”size”? Let’s just say extra large.

-Prago. I must get to It-ali. You hep me? Come. I giff you Georgio Armani.

I told him I wasn’t interested but he pressed on. I thought for a moment that what he showed me looks like a pretty good cheap copy of an Armani leather coat and would never cramp the style of worst-writer. Then I told him that I’m a ”writer” and that I can’t get published and I have no money to offer him in exchange. I also told him that I’m fatter than XL and he seemed to agree. But then again. I thought. I can’t fit into the last leather coat that I was able to afford – when I actually made a living. I wondered if I should have told him that I live off a well-earning German girlfriend who has an MG and an A6 (subsidized company car, aghast).

I thought: what’s the best way to get a lunatic It-alien salesman off my back.

-Dude, scuzi, do you want to know what I do for a living? I’m a writer. Autore. This is not even my car. I’m washing it for someone to get a few Euros. Capi-shee? I’m a failed writer. I write every day and can’t earn one fucking cent in this world. And you want to con me out of money for a fake Armani coat and then convince me to give you a gift of, let’s say, a hundred Euros for giving it to me? Get the hell out of here before I head butt your ass like Zidane. Fuck off.

In a way I felt bad for the guy. He might have needed the money to actually get back to It-ali as he was running away from the German counterfeiter where he stole the coats.

As I drove home in the clean MG I thought about the story that I started a few weeks ago which became a story I thought I lost. I realized a few days after thinking that I lost the story that I still wanted to write it. But how? I talked to myself about it for a while and then just said: fuck it. Start over. And so I did. I started re-writing it. Been typing like crazy since. It’s coming along now. I hope to have a version of it finished in a few weeks. It’s still called Gloria. I don’t plan on having any It-aliens in it but there is a Romanian.

Rant on.