So my tiny little pickup breaks down and I have to get another vehicle. To me, the solution is clear – get a goddamn replacement. But in a city that prefers its dogs the size of hamsters and its lattes double skinny, this is not as easy as it sounds. Not because of a lack of availability – no, you can’t turn a corner without getting stuck behind a 1971 Nissan hauling wrecked furniture – but because of social pressure from people who react to the statement, “I’m getting another pickup,” as though you’d said, “I’m getting another Prince Albert.” Really. Try it. Tell someone in L.A., in any city really, that you’re buying a truck and see what happens. The reaction, like the one people have to the news they have cancer of the death of a hamster-sized dog, comes in stages. The first and largest is… Confusion: There is palpable tension when the words “buying another” in relation to an automobile are not followed immediately by, “Prius.” The mere concept of a person choosing to drive anything less compact than a Miata is perplexing to most Angelenos, who assume you have the IQ of someone with an extra chromosome. The supposition is that you are too dumb to have considered the idea that you will, at certain points, have to stop driving it.

“Where are you going to park it?” is almost always the first question. Answer: The same place you put yours – All over the goddamn place. Second Reaction: Disgust. A man in L.A. buying a pickup is subject to revulsion for: 1) Harboring backwoods tendencies that suggest a proclivity toward molesting hogs. 2) A desire to rape the environment. And 3) The possession of a disturbing macho complex that makes one less self-assured as, say, a hipster with the confidence to drive a Corolla. Third: Sympathy. Seeing that you, the backwoods retard with the tiny dick and the Republican party affiliation, are set in your decision, people head for the emotion normally leant toward anyone uncool in L.A.: Pity. Deep, deep pity. The conversation ends with a reassuring smile meant to say, “At least you’re not the Guy on the Bike.” Whatever, I know I’m in the minority here. It makes a lot of sense to drive one of these. But I like my little pickup, and anyway just wait until you have to move, you fuckers, and then we’ll see who’s the retard.

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