There are many things to say about the place they call “CAR” and none of them are good. I am bound by straps and ropes and then am blasted around the outside, facing in the wrong direction. Further, the attendants sit up front and determine where we go. If I chastise them loudly, which I have to do often in this situation, they send loud and hideous and tedious talking my way — not theirs, it comes from Car.
Often we find ourselves caught in a swarm of many Cars of different hues, all frozen in a state of unbearable stasis. No doubt this is due to some profound ineptness on the part of my attendants. I shout and shout but there is no release.
Today, after I delivered a lengthy castigation for their reprehensible treatment of me as well as their incompetence, they sang a song. The song told the deeds of an attendant named Bakers Man quickly and efficiently making a cake for me and marking it with B, for my insignia. I shouted that this would be some small compensation for my discomfort and that they should produce this cake immediately, but they just started the song again, this time making accompanying hand gestures, clearly designed to mock me.
I included this outrageous mockery amongst my chastisements and did not let up until long after I was free from the prison of buckles.