Hey you! Looking to buy a vehicle, huh? Well I got a MANLY truck right here that can haul up to eight iron barbecues cooking fresh bison I just killed with my compound bow. It doesn’t have any of your girly frills like a steering wheel warmer or “man-step” or–

(cell phone rings)

Hold on, I gotta take this.

Hello? … Pretty good. Just squaring away some fags who want to buy some pussy-ass sedans… Sure, go ahead… You WHAT?!? …  Fuel efficiency?!?! … You gotta be fuckin’ kiddin’ me… Oh Christ… Yeah… Uh huh… Uh huh… Fine. Whatever… No, a contract’s a contract… Sure. Go fuck yourself.

(hangs up)

(puts on glasses)

So! Where were we? Car shopping! Right! As I was saying — No, this truck here isn’t mine, ha ha! I have this totally badass Chevy Silverado here as an example of, uh, what not to buy. UNLESS you want the most fuel efficient truck on the market! 20 miles per gallon on the highway! That’s a lot, right?

But what YOU need is something even MORE fuel efficient! In today’s market, a fuel efficient vehicle is the best way for me to get to my various masculine activities like football practice and weight lifting and fucking your wife because you can’t satisfy her. When you’re driving all over town to fill up gash, you don’t want to have to stop and fill up for gas, am I right?

WHAT? You’re thinking about an import? Just because they’re cheaper and better made? Well guess what, fucko:

Not only does Consumer’s Digest get a big throbbing efficiency hard-on for the Cobalt, but so do Juggs and Black Tail. Don’t believe me? Go ahead, check my porn collection. I leave it out in my living room even when I have your sister over, because I don’t give a fuck. I’m a MAN.

But no, go ahead and get that Prius. They’re great cars. For cruising men in West Hollywood on your way to a gay wedding.

(sighs)

This sucks. I miss the old days.

Say, buddy!  Long time, no see.  Last time I saw you it was — what?  The football playoffs?  Funny how we only bump into each other during major sporting events.  And here you are, still driving a vehicle made for limp-wristed little bitches.  Not that there’s anything wrong with that.  A truck like that is perfect for a bleeding gash like you.

I’m sorry.  I shouldn’t be so dismissive.  Don’t cry.  You gonna cry?  Gonna cry, little girl?  No?

You sure?

Anyway, I’m over that whole truck-wars thing.  I hardly have the time to be condescending about how weak you are for buying a truck that provides you simple comforts and additional safety features.  I’m more focused on my new SUV-wagon crossover.  Check it out:

That’s right, I’m a family man now.  I’ve got a softer side.  A softer side that wears v-neck sweaters.  A softer side that covers but doesn’t quite conceal the hard side of my well-muscled neck and shoulders.  Heck, you and I might even get along!  If you didn’t piss your pants so much.

One thing hasn’t changed, though: my Chevrolet product totally kicks ass, and your faggoty excuse for transportation is barely worth my scorn.

Seriously?  The fucking Honda Pilot?  Why don’t you just buy a station wagon, for Christ’s sake?  And then go suck some anonymous truck stop cock, because that’s clearly what you really want to do.

Frankly, I was shocked to learn you got the Pilot.  A pussy little V-6 truck with shitty gas mileage, man-step, and heated steering wheel?  Sure.  That’s you.  But a family vehicle?  No way.  I never figured you for the family type.

Of course, you realize those kids are mine, right?  Hey, your wife needed someone with a big, hard, virile dick.  And I wasn’t about to wear a condom.  Condoms are for queers like you.  If you could get an erection.  But thanks for raising the little bastards.  Saves me a ton of trouble, even if you’re giving them inadequate childhoods by driving them around in a crossover that has entirely enough trunk space but not as much as the new CHEVY TRAVERSE.

Y’know, I would’ve been a better dad to my kids that you raised if I hadn’t been so busy doing manly shit, like playing pro football and filling sand bags and doing construction work and nailing your wife.  I’m great with kids.  Aren’t I, little girl?

Little Girl: I’m not a little girl.  I’m a BIG girl!

Howie: SHUT UP SLUT!  You’re lucky your mom fucks as well as she does, otherwise your ugly ginger mug would be learning to turn tricks in the discard pile of central casting.

Ugh, this job was easier when it was all about how much of a pussy you are.

Joe Buck: …and that does it for the first half.  Coming up, join Terry, Howie, Jimmy and other grown men with little boys’ names for the FOX Sprint Halftime Report.  But first, these words from our sponsors.

Cleatus the FOX Sports Robot: (runs in place)

(does push-ups)

(puts tin of Copenhagen into facemask)

[OFF-AIR IN THE FOX STUDIO]

Terry Bradshaw: … so I said, “Hooo-WEEEEEEEEEEE!!!  Honey, skinnin’ raccoons is the other thing I’m good at!”

(everybody laughs for five seconds)

Curt Menefee: Ohhh, Terry, you are just too WACKY!

Terry: Whatever, BLACKIE!!!

(everybody laughs for five seconds)

Cleatus: (stops doing jumping jacks) *FORCED*  *LAUGHTER*  *NO MORE*

Terry: Well hey there now, Cleatus!  Takin’ some time off between commercial breaks, huh?

Cleatus: (scans Bradshaw with infrared) *ANNOYANCE LOCATED*  *TERMINATE*

Terry: Why, you know, I got a cousin named Cletus back in–

Cleatus: (throws metal football through Bradshaw’s head)

Frank Caliendo doing John Madden impression: Whoooaaaaaaaaa!  Didja, did ya see that?  Cleatus just, he just, just threw the football through Terry’s head!  One minute Terry’s talking, then BOOM!  His head’s all splattered.  Heh.

Cleatus: *TIRED*  *IMPRESSION*  *TERMINATE*

Frank Caliendo doing Robert Deniro impression: Are you talkin’ to me?  You talkin’ to me?

Cleatus: (rips off Caliendo’s head, then spikes it through the floor. It travels through the planet’s crust into the Earth’s core, where it gets skewered on a pike in Hell)

(The sun comes out all across America, and children of all races hold hands)

(TBS’s ratings go up)

Howie Long: Yeah, I guess those were some pretty violent deaths.  Nothing I couldn’t do with my truck, but not too bad.  It’s possible you don’t sit down to piss radiator fluid.  Hell, you might not even be completely impotent.

Cleatus: *WHAT*

Howie: ‘Course, a real badass killer robot wouldn’t leave without havin’ his way with a Super Bowl-winning coach.

Cleatus: *OH YEAH* *WATCH* *THIS*

Jimmy Johnson: WHAT?!?!?!  Ahhhhhh!!!!  No!

(struggles)

NOT THE HAIR!  Nnggghhhh!!!!!

Howie: Popcorn?

Menefee and Michael Strahan: Sure!

_________________________________________________________________________________

[MILLIONS OF AMERICAN HOMES]

(The entirety of the halftime report consist of game highlights playing in an empty studio. The only sound is something rhythmic and vaguely mechanical)

Football Fan: Now see, THIS is the kind of halftime show I’ve been asking for!

Sayyyyy, nice truck you got there.  What is that, a V-8?  Oh, only a V-6?  Well, I suppose that’s okay.  As long as you don’t need your truck to do anything MANLY, like carry heavy shit uphill.  Heavy shit made out of metal, because that’s the kind of heavy shit REAL MEN need to haul.

But no, it’s a good truck. You get good gas mileage?  Yeah?  Well gas mileage is for pussies.  My truck here gets about two gallons per mile.  You know what else gets mileage that bad?  A fucking TANK.  That’s how I know my truck kicks ass.

That’s a nice color for it, too. What is that, “red”? It looks good. I seen some real pretty flowers that color. Me, I don’t need to paint my truck. Primer’s good enough for me. If I had paint it would just get in the way of me doing MANLY SHIT, like driving through explosions in the desert and speeding past giant machines swinging other trucks at my truck. But red’s good, too. Probably looks really nice in the parking lot when you pick your son up from ballet practice.

But I like yours.  Who made it, Tonka?  I’ll bet it plays your Jonas Brothers CDs pretty loud while I’m fucking your wife.  Pussy.

Oh hey, I notice you’ve got a little– what is that?  A “man ramp” to get up into your truck’s bed?  No, no — it looks good.  Must come in handy when you want to help a dainty little man into the back there.  So you can hold his hand and have sex with him and ask him to stay the night, because you’re a needy little bitch.  It works for you.

Whatcha got in the forward cab, huh?   Scented Kleenex and Barbies, I bet. 

(peers in through window)

Well well well.  Looky here.  Seatbelts, huh?

(makes wanking motion)

No, don’t take that the wrong way!  Seatbelts are great for women and babies in little cars.  And trucks for men with tiny little limp dicks.

Listen to me, jabbering on like that.  I should let you go.  You’re gonna be late to yoga class or book group or your… your Cocksuckers Anonymous meeting.  You can park that bad boy next to the hybrids.

Gonna drive with the windows up, huh?  Pffft. Faggot.