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Enter Poem or Quote (Required)Required “Good morning, folks,” the guy began…“my name’s Henry Hustle. Got yourselves a real nice car there. Love them fancy wheels! Today I’m gonna prove to you why so darn many people come to us from miles around expecting super deals. “Here at Hustle Motors we believe in giving people prices for their trade-ins that no other lot can beat. My grandpa’s car was just like yours…but his had power steering, power brakes and windows and - I think - a power seat. “And - just as with our vehicles - the mileage and the options dictate what a car is worth. Is this a '56?” “No…this car’s a '34,” I snapped indignantly…knowing how these car lot guys are known for sleazy tricks, “And if the car your grandpa had was even close to this, it wouldn’t have had the options that you’re telling me it had!” “Sorry,” he apologized, “only zeroing in on what we’ll need to give you for your trade-in. Don’t get mad!” Obviously the guy had no idea of what the car Con and I were driving was, and therefore’d stuck his head Deep into his you-know-what, but I was somewhat stunned when Connie stepped between the lying dork and me and said, “This - you numb-nuts, ****-for-brains, pathetic pile of crap – is what is called a ‘Duesenberg’. Does that name ring a bell?” Restored from top to bottom ---- as this is ---- this car is worth a couple million more than any car you’ll ever sell!” “Not so fast,” the weasel countered, clearly undeterred, “step into our showroom, folks…I’ve got a car in there Loaded to the gills with options…clean, and low on miles. Hustle Motors always strives to treat its clients fair. “Cars like yours are hard to sell. Takes a big garage, and parking spots are tough to find…but I believe we can, And just to prove that - when you need a dealer you can trust - someone truly honest - Henry Hustle is your man - “I’m prepared to take your car - and fifteen thousand bucks - for this fantastic four door ’67 Chevrolet! How about them bucket seats! And rolled and pleated carpet’s not the kind of special touch a guy sees every day! “I can guarantee you, folks - and I shop all the dealers - you ain’t gonna find a finer car on any lot. Wait’ll you discover how it feels to drive this car…and wait’ll you experience the options that it’s got. “Fluid steering…duplex speakers…two-way rear-view mirror…plias-belted sidewall tires, and - orgonomic dash! All of this and so much more for just your big ol’ bomb, and fifteen measly thousand bucks! Of course, we’re talkin’ cash.” “Sure, I know your car is old - very short on options - finding parts is pretty tough, and, yes...it’s hard to park, But I don’t want you folks to wind up going somewhere else and end up getting swindled by some bottom-feeding shark!” “Lefty here ‘ll run ya’ to the bank - to get the money. I’ll go swap the license plates, then...after I’ve been paid... You can tell your friends and fam’ly good old Henry Hustle gave you what I’m sure’s the sweetest deal you’ve ever made.” “‘Not so fast,’ yourself,” I snapped, “our car is not for trade...and even fifteen HUNDRED bucks is way too much for this!” Then added - to my wife’s delight an ornery counter-offer…telling him what part of my - anatomy - he could kiss! Never seen a salesman that possessed a thicker skin! Everything we’d thrown at him had failed to penetrate. Nowhere close to giving up, he started on a spiel that made us only angrier… and him - a cinch to hate! “Take ‘er out an’ run ‘er through the gears,” the guy insisted. “Weighing so much less than yours, you’ll save a lot o' gas.” Connie shouted, “Listen, dude, as far as I’m concerned...you can take that pile o’ junk and stick it up your.....butt!” Didn’t even phase the guy. He started right back in! “And just to prove I like you - for a hundred dollar bill - We’ll provide an 8-track tape deck…rotate all the belts…synchronize the parking lights…and lubricate the grill!” Now that, you must agree, is more than any man can take…and, now back in the Doozy, I went more or less berserk! Someone had to kill him…and when Connie prodded, “Damn it…..I say that - as we’re leaving - we eradicate the jerk!” Tapping on my window as we tried to leave the lot, spewing lines of total bull, I had to make him stop. “Connie,” I commanded, “when he turns to walk away....tell me if you see another salesman - or a cop.” The only bit of evidence we left was on his spine - a fairly shallow imprint of the Doozy's fancy tread! Which does, of course, afford us now the pleasure of announcing... “All the world can celebrate, ‘cause…Henry Hustle’s DEAD!"
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