While my flat-tar gently weeps

Was I a car killer in a past life? Some sort of mass machine murderer? What have I done to make every mechanical thing on the planet despise me so? The Bentra Sentra, with its sadly smashed-in side, courtesy of French Fry Boy, just ain't been right since he decided to sling it in front of another moving vehicle. Something about pushing it sideways down the road tends to square the tires (or in my native hillbilly language, "tars"). Plus he is very, very bad with curbs. I think he sees them more as, "guidelines" of how far off the roadway to park. He usually scrapes and/or jumps them. So the sad lil' Sentra has a smashed in side, squared tires and bent wheel rims. Bent wheel rims are bad.... very, very bad. Tires recognize their deformity, and struggle vainly to distance themselves (as if they're any better - they're nearly bald for cryin' out loud - and squared, don't forget squared.) Apparently, the automobiles gossiped in the driveway, and Bentra Sentra complained to shiny new Neon about its sad and sorry state. Neon felt magnanimous (don't hate me because I'm beautiful) and reacted with empathetic brake shimmy. Husband's car had to be taken in to the shop. Both rotors would have to be replaced, but the mechanics praised its attractiveness. Neon blushed modestly. Upon returning to mechanic to retrieve Neon, Husband got out of passenger seat of Bentra Sentra, glanced down, and said, "Hey look at this" (which is never a good sign). My front passenger tire, which has been filled with fix-a-flat so many times it probably contains more goo than air, was spewing a small stream of frothy pink gunk out, next to one of the more severe dents in the wheel rim. As the stream dribbled down the tire, it formed a large teardrop shape on the rapidly flattening tire. We went in and signed our souls away to retrieve the Dazzling Dodge, while poor lil' Bentra Sentra sat in the sun, oozing and flattening. I asked one of the mechanics if they could give it a little air to get me home. They told me it was going to need a new wheel. I requested the name of a fine, upstanding salvage dealer who could offer me the most reasonable price. "Where can I get one cheap?" The owner came over, and took a look at BentRim, and said, (knowing we'd just signed our souls over to him) "Hang on a minute, I think I can bang it out a bit, maybe tide you over for a while." He proceeded to use a very large hammer to whack mightily on BentRim. I stood in silent awe. At dawn, it was still holding air, and I mouthed a silent supplication that it will maintain a semi-inflated state until next payday. The-praying-it-rains-dollars-in-Mazoorah Marti