The End of an Era

I regret to inform you all that the Grand Marquis breathed its last breath yesterday. It put up a good fight but finally gave up and was officially pronounced dead at 12:02 pm. It took me as far as the beach and went peacefully while parked in the Brooklyn sun. It will find its new home on Monday in junkyard heaven, where the proceeds for its organs and scrap metal will be donated to Cars for Kids. In the meantime, I wish I could have it towed to Raccuglia & Sons Funeral Home, to be paid respect and for a final viewing. I would drape daisies and rosaries over it, and the car radio, if it were working, would play Brown Skin Lady and You Don't Bring Me Flowers Anymore, concluding with the soundtrack to The Royal Tennenbaums. We would smoke cigars as we listened. The MC would of course be GC, and he would ask if anyone would like to share any memories, the family would greatly appreciate it. After the mass, everyone would follow the white stretch limo stocked with Courvoisier to the junkyard, where Lionel Richie would deliver a tear-jerking elegy, titled "The Power and Girth of My V-8". Following a post-funeral luncheon at my house, the crowd would disperse, and I would proceed to join the downtrodden straphangers with my head up, knowing that it is in a better place and is not suffering anymore. I feel guilty saying this but it will be replaced, hopefully next month, by a 12-year younger, shorter black model that gets kick-ass gas mileage. I will miss it. I will miss its heavy doors that I sometimes had to kick closed, I will miss its windows that never opened when the cops pulled me over, I will miss its cocky old man outbursts, I will miss the junk in its trunk. It had a solid sense of humor. It had irony. It wanted me to tell you it loved you all, and has left something for each of you. For Gregory, it has left its plush back seat and joystick. For Reagan, it has left its disco ball and bevy of double-lined plastic bags. For Danny, it has left its cigar lighter and car radio face plate. For me, it has left its flaccid hood ornament. To honor its memory, I will have its signature three-lined insignia that was once on its grill tattooed on my ass.