the viruses have breached my firewall

When I traded in the Jeep, I stripped it bare, and I've been selling it off part-by-part ever since. By the time I'm done, I expect to exceed $8000 in part sales and government handouts. For a '94 with 300,000 miles on it. That cost $14,000 new, 15 years ago. God Bless America.

I'd like to thank the ditzy left...but I suspect they'll still come out ahead somehow, someway. And yes, I think about selling the Prius at an enormous profit pretty much every five minutes. I could put the money toward a Humvee.

I jest. Kinda. I only thought of the Humvee now.

Parting out the Jeep has meant some time on Craigslist for me, and as with all things Internet, I've come to resent Craigslist for putting me in direct contact with the moist recesses of humanity that my hermetic lifestyle ordinarily allows me to avoid.

"You're awful far away. Can you meet me in Port Blatherboro?" says one man, proposing that I embark on a three-hour round-trip in order to sell him a $40 item. That I'm listed only in my region's little corner of craigslist doesn't dissuade this type from complaining that my region is too far away.

"Can you bring it to Seattle?" says another of the Jeep's hardtop roof, which is lying in my front yard. Delivering the hardtop in a Prius would be like transporting a folding lawnchair in a Nyquil measuring cap.

"How much for the doors?" ask countless people about the ad that says "SORRY, THE DOORS ARE NOT FOR SALE."

"Will you take $5?" says someone of the $160, brand-new stereo. "I really need it!!!" Yeah, why wouldn't I? It takes up so much space; I'm dying to get rid of it. Plus you're obviously entitled.

Of all the responses, though, the most annoying is this staggeringly common one: "is your hardtop still for sale call me 253-555-1234." Given that we're meeting online, one would presume a certain comfort level with online interactions, but fully half of the respondents' top priority is to get me to call them long-distance. Which ain't happening. I'm perfectly comfortable with grass never growing there again. Before I call one of these people, I'll flip the goddamned hardtop over and make a planter out of it.