Suddenly the doors open and people tumble into the container, the place with seats, not the caboose which yawns for groceries in the shopping mall parking lot, and in due course the car does what it does best which is of course to ROLL, but not as in "row, row, row the boat, gently down the stream", but "roll, roll, roll the car, gently (or otherwise) down the street" -- except there isn't any roller. That's the thing about rolling.
Monique was sitting behind the wheel. Not really behind it so much as under it as she rolled all over the place running errands and talking to Bubba. Bubba didn't like his name since it sounded like he was stuttering when he said it. In fact sometimes he did stutter, a little, when telling people his name, but they acted like they didn't notice, though they always DID notice and mentally classified him as marginally defective even though he had good definition in his biceps.
During the middle of the night seat belts stop being seat belts, but like the light inside the refrigerator which you can never check to see if it really turns off when you close the door, the instant, the very instant, anyone looks inside the car, they WILL see seat belts. Yes, yes, but what if no one's looking. Well . . .
Bubba: I ran into Harrold the other day.
Monique: Yeah? Does he spell his name with one or two r's?
Bubba: Monique, why do ask me questions like that?
Monique: Bubba, why do you ask me questions like that?
[Bubba reaches over with erotic intent, but the smoking tip of his cancer tube drops in his crotch and he starts flapping around like a hysterical penguin.]
Monique: All better?
Bubba: JEEZus, the price you have to pay these days to get lung cancer!
Monique: Funny. You probably will get cancer you know -- and bring down about 14 other people while you're at it, you're such a fucking secondary smoke machine. Doesn't it ever bother you that you're significantly contributing to giving EVERYONE ELSE WHO KNOW'S YOU cancer?
Bubba: Nope, not at all. Not fucking at all. These little babies are my way as saying fuck you to God.
The car rolls and rolls and rolls. And when it's not rolling it's sitting still. When Monique starts the car she always sees herself as in some way 'causing' the rolling, much like moving a paddle boat at the River Club, but of course she might just as well be in front of her (never turned off) television, playing no role WHATSOEVER as she does in the production of rolling, since she's the recipient, merely, of an elaborate chain of effects originating in controlled combustions under the hood.
But this is the game cars and people play. People pretend they're (somehow) "causing" the rolling with will power (maybe thought?) even though cars know better. At least, cars WOULD know better, if cars knew anything, but as to whether or not they do, that's up for grabs. But IF (let's just pretend -- we never do anything else anyway) cars could say their say with us, here's a little drive to the mall:
car: Oh Christ, here comes fat ass Monique. What does she DO in that spa, shoot up crème cheese?
Monique: I heard that. Watch it. Did you ever hear of being sold for parts?
Bubba: Oh leave car alone. It's got a right to its point of view.
Monique: "Its point of view!" Jesus, Bubba, you scare me. It's a machine, for Christ's sake, rubber on the road, you hear what I'm saying?
car: They do in Detroit.
Monique: I'd call you a fucking wise ass if you HAD an ass.
car: Ok, ok, please pay attention to what you're doing, you're going to crash me -- again.
Monique: AGAIN, what's this 'again' shit, I've never crashed you, you babbling bowl of bolts.
car: Spare us the alliterations, please.
Bubba: Look, will you two just stop it? Jesus, you're worse than kids.
car: OK, but can we get something straight once and for all. I heard earlier about how she was going to "take you to the mall". Read my lips (or head lights), the CAR, c'est moi!, is what's taking you to the mall. YOU two are just sitting there, having conversations, playing with yourself, doing your bipedal thing -- and steering. Now in that respect, in that ONE respect, you're participating in going to the mall, but when it comes to the rolling, the actual, physical rolling down the driveway, down the street, into the parking lot, and back again, ME, the car, I'm doing ALL OF THAT. Comprendo?
Bubba: Fuck, don't talk to me, I'm just sitting here, smoking my Camel, SHE'S doing the driving.
Monique: That's right, that's right, suck your pacifier and let this "object" babble on and INSULT me right in front of you.
car: Please, Monique, I'm not trying to have an argument, not this time. I'm just saying, wake up, I'm not a bicycle, your legs aren't moving me. We're moving down this street INDEPENDENTLY of any energy coming from you. You're steering me, yes, I acknowledged that, and the key turning catalyzed my combusting, but in every other respect you might just as well be on Mars.
Bubba: Are there cars on Mars?
car: I'll pretend I didn't hear that.
Monique: What's your point?
car: I thought you'd never ask. My POINT, is for you bipedals to stop taking responsibility for processes you have NOTHING TO DO WITH. You're just being moved around in machines with wheels. Stop deluding yourself that driving a car is something you're "doing". You're not doing shit, you're just sitting there, picking your nose and steering. I'm not an extension of your fantasies, your wishful thinking. This street's not on television, it's REAL, and I'M real and this trip to the mall has nothing to do with your alleged souls.
Bubba: Hey, hey, now cool it, you're getting carried away. Don't be talking to us about our souls.
Monique: I can't believe it, I can't believe it. Here's mr/miz "IT", giving us lectures on philosophy.
car: Actually, it's more like religion.
Monique: WHATEVER. Christ, here's the mall, let's park this piece of shit and spend some time with HUMANS again.
Bubba: car, I don't know about you. I don't mind your opinions about the candy ass stuff, but you went over a line today. You shouldn't be trying to explain away our world.
car: Is that what I was doing? I thought I was just saying the obvious, but, OK, I'll go back to doing my machine thing again (for awhile), if that's what you need.
Bubba: We're not talking about what I NEED.