Ding Dong! Whats that? Did someone ring the man bell? I believe they did and thats why me, a man, with my man bits and man hands, attempted to change a tyre this morning and put the spare on our car. Now some of you, including some women, may be thinking ‘its not that manly changing a tyre, I can do it’, but ask yourself, can you though? Or do you just call a little man in a jumpsuit to come along and do it all for you? Do you huh? I bet you do. Because that’s what I have to do, after my hugely failed attempt. Yes, let me just cash in my cock and balls here and undo any man status I may have had. In my defence, the only reason I couldn’t change the tyre is because the bolts on the flat were put on in the a garage with one of those automatic electrical bolt things that means even the Hulk would get a hernia trying to loosen them. Actually that’s not true. The Hulk’s hands are rather large which would cause him difficulty in removing fiddly bolts anyway and he’d probably just tear the tyre off, throw it at someone and then jump around smashing things. This is why the Hulk no longer works at Kwick Fit.
I did try to defy the laws of industrial bolt tighteners, by attaching the spider (technical term, not an actual spider, as that wouldn’t work) to one end of the bolt and actually standing on the other end to turn it with my entire body weight (see an actual spider would be crushed by now) and it still didn’t work. My dad came round with some WD40 and a special spider cross type thing (also a technical term) and he still couldn’t do it. This is bad as my dad knows things about cars and once changed a tyre in pitch black darkness in Italy, and once fixed a thingy in an engine with a thingy. I honestly don’t understand what he means but I’ve heard the story from three different people so I know its true. So instead he complained about stupid industrial bolt tighteners and so did I and we’ve had to get a man in a jumpsuit to come round in the week and do it instead, while I mosey around in the background like an ex-man. Not an X-Man, that’d be fine and would probably have helped me slice off/laser off/throw a playing card at the tyre in the first place. Hmm. Lots of comic book references today. Perhaps in my failed attempts at car fixery, geekness has shone through.
That is entirely why they do these sort of things. I have, in the past, complained about our car’s headlights on this blog before, as the bulbs are fitted in a casing that you need a special whojimmywhatsit to take it off and only garage men have this whojimmywhatsit and change the bulb in seconds whilst smirking. I could do it if I had the whojmmywhatsit, in the same why I could change the tyre if I had a special bolt thingy. Essentially smarmy tool makers are making me appear shit. Although to be hugely fair to them, I’ve only ever changed a tyre once, when my dad was showing me how many years ago, and if I had removed the bolts there is nothing to say I then would’ve put the jack in the wrong place, broken the car in two and then dropped a tyre on my foot. Luckily, everyone is under the assumption I would’ve done it fine and those smarmy tool makers have probably actually saved my dignity a tad. Thanks smarmy tool makers.
Now all I need is for them to make jar lids that definitely can’t be opened unless I take them to a special man in a shop and for all shelves to have a special lock that means you can’t put them into a wall without them exploding, unless someone with a special DIY kit turns up and does it for you. Then and only then, will my manhood be entirely safe.
Oh and in some sort of feeble attempt at redemption, if you are a twitterer, I’m going to start a #twitterbrawl at 8pm tonight (GMT). Please join in. I am going for old fashioned Western brawl here, so chairs must be thrown, dames must kick someone while holding their skirt and a drunk man must fall over despite not being hit. If you aren’t a twitterer, replace this paragraph with some favourite music of your choice or perhaps a topic of conversation you feel may just help you out at that important swaree.
