When There's a Will, There's a Way

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Talk about America’s love affair with cars….

I used to be human. Now my mind resides on a NeVPROM chip under the hood of an Icarus—one of the sleekest, fastest, sexiest cars on the road.

I arrived at the dealership in late February, and spent four days out on the lot getting dusty before I was able to talk one of the salesmen into getting me polished up and put on the showroom floor where it’s nice and clean.

She came in three days later. Within seconds, I had spun all my eyes towards her.

Why am I still interested if I don’t have a you-know-what? Call it force of habit. Call it esthetic appreciation for the finer things in life. Call it what you like, but I still enjoy looking at women.

She was coming at me like she already owned me. A purposeful walk, heels tapping a steady beat on the tiles. She stopped about five paces away and cocked her head, studying my lines.

“I come equipped with top-of-the-line De Armond seats,” I told her. “Fourteen individual, leather-covered, pneumatic cushions that contour to fit your body like a fine glove.”

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