the story of frankenhonda, or how is a 1996 honda civic like steve buscemi in an adam sandler movie.

i'd like to tell you a story.

once upon a time, there was a young lady. her car's driver-side headlight went out and her husband replaced it for her, because he was a good and talented husband. however, the newly replaced headlight died after just a day, and the young lady's husband suspected that dark forces were at work. the young lady imposed upon the husband of an acquaintance who replaced a sensor. the headlight still didn't work. now, many moons passed, and many of the underlings at the young lady's office took great pleasure in reminding her that she had a headlight out, because it made them feel powerful to know that the young lady's car was a great piece of shit.

the young lady is digressing.

so anyway, eventually the young lady's driver-side brake light went out. [oh, how the underlings did titter and rejoice!] the husband put his foot down. he replaced the brake light and ordered a new headlamp case that very night.

and so, the new headlamp case arrived, and it was shiny and new, and it looked nothing like the other headlamp case in the young lady's vehicle, but she was not very concerned about this small matter. she just laughed it off and declared that she would be proud to drive a car that vaguely resembled steve buscemi:



the day after the new headlamp arrived, the good and caring husband was eager to begin work. he diligently removed the defective headlamp



which was full of water. here is a simple equation that it would serve us all well to remember: lightbulbs + water = bad. the husband then went to work, preparing the vehicle for its new headlamp case. he carefully removed the bumper:



and stopped to survey that which he had done. he saw that it was good, and celebrated with a very manly victory dance:



and the young lady was much aroused.

but then the husband realized that in his eagnerness, he had forgotten an integral piece to this puzzle. a new bulb!



and so off he went, into the misty swamp morning, in search of a lightbulb for the young lady's filthy, squeaky, fart-cannon-bearing ricer.

the young lady enjoyed a smoothie and a cup of coffee and dreaded the upcoming day of work.



but she remembered to count her blessings, and was grateful for her attentive and handy husband and her soon-to-be slightly-less-embarrassing-but-hey-at-least-now-i-am-less-likely-to-get-pulled-over vehicle.

and they all lived happily ever after.