Look who checked in! ^^^^^^
I kill me sometimes.
I did a complete front brake job on the wife's family truckster today…a 2001 Dodge Grand Caravan…in the driveway in near-freezing temperatures because I’m hard like that.
And a cheap bastard…
MOPARS suck. Did I tell you that recently?
Why do I have to replace front pads and rotors every two years?
Back in the day with non-computer-designed vehicles, brakes would last forever, and a guy could get rotors and drums turned or resurfaced, and that shit would last ten years.
I made three trips to the parts store to do this project because the parts-number-reading chick behind the counter gave me the wrong shit.
She said I gave her bum scoop as to the brake setup on the car.
Looky here, bitch. I’ve owned this sled for ten fucking years, and I can do a front brake job with my eyes closed, my pecker in one hand, and a beer in the other.
I know what I have, and I know what I told you.
Thanks for nothing.
Girls should not work in auto parts stores.
Girls should be at home wearing frilly clothing and making sammiches for their men.
That’s what I think.
Front heavy sons-a-bitches eat brakes like it's cool.
Front suspension components not up to the task either.
Light, stamped bullshit with cheesy rubber bushings and no grease zerks…designed and built by union commie heathen Canadians from Canadia.
I am so happy we bailed out Chrysler.
Fuck Obama. Thanks, WireCutter.
I figure I saved at least $200 by doing it myself...which means more money for ammo and the upcoming apocalypse.
My wife is happy, and that’s all that really matters.
As I worked on the van today, a Blackhawk helicopter buzzed over my house...probably to do a flyover for the Colts game...and check up on me.
I flipped him off.