Everyone loves a parade. Until, that is, Mr. Clydesdale clops by and drops about fifty pounds of steamy excrement. For some reason, we tolerate this gauche horsey behavior, which is what inspired me to produce an epiphany with global repercussions: We need cars that crap.
Before I delve into the mind-blowing details of cars that crap, let’s further analyze the parade phenomenon with Mr. Clydesdale.
Crowds love horsies, whatever their make or model. Add to that the thrill of not knowing when or where the excrement drop will occur, and you’ve got drama akin to watching a NASCAR race waiting for someone to crash. The elders lean a little closer on their lawn chairs. Lil’ children make sure there is no stray candy that could be splattered by the perilous plop.
Parade-organizers have seen to it that there is an infrastructure in place to deal with those back-door biscuits. You’ll always find some poor sap with a metal shovel and rubber boots, trailing Mr. Ed with his scooper at the ready.
And you know what? We have no problem with a horse pooping on the road. Even more, the poop is quickly scooped up, and rushed to a nearby vegetable garden, where it helps fertilize and grow vegetables that will eventually become human poop. All good.
At a recent parade, I watched a horse poop and receive thunderous applause from the delighted onlookers. My mind immediately drifted to the modern day version of horsies – our cars.
Cars poop, but it’s not a smelly mess. It’s a nearly odorless, invisible gas that drifts off into the atmosphere. I seem to recall reading somewhere that these emissions lead to pollution, greenhouse gases, and other things that will eventually kill us. That’s not good.
No one is cleaning up car poop, I realized. So what if those emissions were solid? What if we had cars that crap?
Building a Pooping Pontiac
I immediately called a good friend of mine, Pat, who is the McGyver of home improvement. Pat is an engineer, and as such, has magical powers that inspire awe from mechanically-inept mortals such as myself. I figured if he can diagnose why my toilet keeps running, over the phone, surely he could help me invent a car that craps.
Full disclosure: I knew Pat has an affliction. He is a compulsive fixer/builder. At the mere mention of a project, he will drop everything and jump right in. This has led to some friction between our families.
Many years ago, during the birth of his first son, I had called Pat with a question about some ceiling vents. I didn’t realize his wife was in mid-labor, and she got pissed at me because he left to help with the vents. (Did I mention he was delivering the baby at the time? He’s an engineer, after all. They can do anything.)
Time heals all wounds, fortunately, and we’re back on good terms. I called, and Pat arrived within ten minutes. I briefed him on the Car that Craps idea.
“Instead of all these emissions floating willy-nilly into the atmosphere, we’ll be able to capture the waste and dispose of it properly,” I said.
“Where would all that waste go?” he asked. A brilliant question! Only an engineer, trained in the magical art of engineering, could conjure up such perceptive pondering.
“Well, either we could put it out on the curb with our recyclables every week, or we could dump it in some farmer’s field with all our grass clippings.”
“Ok,” Pat said. “It sounds like a long-term environmental problem, so we’ll let the government worry about that. But for now, I think we’ve got to figure out how to capture the waste from the car, because we can’t have poop all over the highways.”
My initial suggestion was that every car come equipped with a guy with a metal shovel and rubber boots, who will hop out and scoop whenever your car takes a crap.
Pat pooh-poohed the idea. “Might not be enough room for him in the car, especially if you’re transporting a family of five. Let me go home and give this some thought.”
“Oh, and we’ll also need an alternative fuel source that can be mass produced, is cheaper than gas, and will result in solid waste,” I called out to him as he pulled out of the driveway.
Pat flashed the thumbs up. “I’m on it.”
Two days later, Pat returned to the house carrying a unique bag – a strap-on device that would affix to the tailpipe.
“Beautiful,” I shouted. “A car-lostomy bag!”
Pat had also invented an ingenious fuel source, with abundant supplies everywhere. I’ll detail that later in the epiphanal post. Just understand that for now, it was obvious that Pat’s engineering and my marketing know-how had merged into a epiphany of global proportions. It was time to take this innovation into the fast lane.
Crap Spawns An Entire New Industry
My great-great-great-great-great-great grandfather was a caveman, and because language wasn’t all that popular in those days, he never spoke intelligible words. But if he did, I have no doubt he would have uttered, “When the good Lord gives you lemons, make some lemonade.”
American ingenuity and know-how is all about adapting to adversity, just like Grandpa Caveman alluded to, and I was about to do the same with car feces. Making a few calls to titans of industry, I spelled out the marketing potential for cars that crap.
First, I called Gucci, who began designing very hip, very stylish Car-lostomy bags based on Pat’s prototype. We even planned on a very sexy ad campaign showing a Victoria’s Secret model emptying car crap.
Second, we worked with Glade to produce a car stick-up that would affix just above the bag and spray lilac scent whenever your car dropped a deuce.
Third, I called President Obama, who immediately green-lighted a mega-stimulus package that would include building car poop recycling centers. Government officials, smelling more pork than poop, immediately jumped on the bandwagon.
All was going well until the crap hit the fan.
Earlier, I had mentioned Pat’s fuel source for these products. The mystical one, being ever resourceful, had realized that the only fuel that would produce horse-like crap was food. He thus took waste items from my garbage, and created an engine that would run on food waste. (I told you the guy could do anything.)
This was ingenious, as we could easily run all our nation’s cars with food discarded in McDonald’s dumpsters. But that’s where we made our big mistake.
The food scraps I ran my car on were high quality yum-yums. My wife is a health-food guru, and we buy only the very best, organic stuff. We are all healthy people as a result, although I will die at an early age from the stress of having to make enough coin to pay for said high-quality diet.
However, other people didn’t go this route. They started feeding their cars food from McDonald’s dumpsters. You know, the stuff that’s been sitting in the bin for longer than five minutes and can thus no longer be eaten by humans, which kinda makes you wonder how good the stuff was five minutes prior.
On the strictly McDonald’s diet, mechanical problems began to mount. Car fuel lines became clogged with excess cholesterol, and it was harder to go from 0 to 60 in 3.7 seconds, which is a requirement for rush hour driving. I won’t even bother detailing the altered consistency of the car’s stool, nor its stomach-churning smell.
The car problems spurred many citizens to demand Universal Mechanical Coverage for automobiles. This all led to massive political in-fighting and much wailing and gnashing of teeth.
At this point, our friendly oil executives reemerged, offering a simple solution: Let’s go back to the old emissions, they said. No poop, no problem.
Within a few weeks, the old gasoline-based cars were on the road, and my cars that crap were forever sidelined. Now I am stuck with several thousand Car-lostomy bags. They sit in my garage, and I give them to kids every Halloween to use for candy.
The nation is back to our old ways. We’re once again polluting the environment, and no one’s cleaning up the crap. If you’re a tree-hugger who loves blue skies, I’m sorry. I tried. I guess if you want to make a difference, you’ll have to buy a horse.
Photo by ubrayj02