One of my favorite Willie Nelson songs is a Horse called Music. It’s a pretty well written and depressing tale about an old performer where his singing is a metaphor for a horse; I wouldn’t recommend listening if you are about to hit the dance floor, but I’m not much of a hit the dance floor type, so I like it. Of course, there’s no song called a Horse called Comedy, because most comics I know drive piles of shit for cars and exactly none could ride a horse without falling off and dying. Maybe I’ll write a song “A beer drank alone at a dive bar that is probably going to stiff you on your $20 called comedy.” Pretty catchy.
I just hit 220,000 miles on my car – I bought it brand new in 2008 and promptly put 40,000 miles on it in the first full year. I was doing a lot of road work and at the time was in a purely outside sales role, so I more or less murdered my car early. I’m about to go car shopping, since my rear window defrost went out (again), my headlight went out (loose wires, I was pulled over heading to a show two months ago), my auto door locks don’t work on the driver’s side (they do on the passenger’s side) and the passenger rear door unlocks about one of seven times. The remote starter keychains quit about 2013, so winter sucks for me also. The horse is about to go to the glue factory.
That said, this car has taken me to hundreds of shows and endured thousands of farts, so I will miss it. I have taken this chariot from Maryland to Minnesota, Alabama to Pennsylvania and all parts in between. Maybe I should do something nice and memorable, like put one the Ozzy’s Boneyard satellite channel on max volume and drive it into the side of a redneck bar for a nice send off. I’m kidding, that would be wasteful. I’ll probably just stage a car theft for the insurance payout, like a true professional comedian.