My side of the story

Hi, so far on this blog, you've heard the perspective of Sara herself. I think it's high time that you, her beloved followers got another side of the story. See, since it is so difficult for her to lug her humongous frame about everywhere, I, Calvin, get the so called privilege of doing so for her. Ok, enough with the diplomatic facade. The big tub of lard puts me through you-wouldn't-imagine-what. Even now, she is trying all sorts of unethical means to try to keep me from finishing this post. Any way, she gets this retarded notion to just, ya know, leave. So she comes out and wakes me up way too early in the morning, and gets in. I'm like "Dude, what's your problem?? It's bad enough having to haul you around, and you want me to do it at this hour of the morning?!" but she just ignores me, as usual, and continues to settle her weighty form into the drivers seat. What can I do? I'm just a car. And people wonder why I grumble and growl so much. If she tells you that I sound like that because somebody did something cool to me, don't listen. That's just me protesting about having her for an owner. Oh yeah, I was telling about her 'epic' departure. Well, she yanks back the shift stick like she's trying to break it or something. Maybe that's why it's cracked and lying under the dash. I couldn't talk any sense into that thick head of hers. She just kept forcing me to do one thing after another. Finally, I couldn't take it any more. My alternator was shot, so I flashed a few lights, whirled a few dials at her and died. She was not happy, but I really didn't care. She deserved everything. Whoops, she's coming back with a very sinister look on her face. I should post this before she starts getting violent.

-Calvin