Firetrucks Make Good Pets

I had a firetruck when I was ten years old. It was the summer of love, and I was in love with my new firetruck. Old Reddy, I'd call it. We went everywhere together. Even down to the old creek. That's where an ancient Inca necktie was buried, I'd heard. We went looking for signs of some Paleolithic civilization, to no avail. Old Reddy was in no mood for failure, so while I went to turn back, he kept on driving. "No, Reddy! Come back! You're going too far into the creek," I cried. But it was too late. He was gone, gone forever, washed away in a flash flood.

I never got over Old Reddy. I bought a new firetruck, a taxi, and a double-decker bus. No chemistry at all. Stayed up late a couple of nights, praying for Reddy to come home. He never did. Days turned into weeks and again into years. When I was coming home from graduation, I stopped by the old creek. Found a rusted out wheel. It was a somber moment, pierced only by the humming of the engine. "Leave the firetruck," purred the Honda. "You don't need some old childhood specter driving you insane."

"Never talk about Old Reddy like that in my presence again!" I screamed, whipping my head around. Silence. When I turned back to the creek, the wheel was gone, floated away on a thin stream of oil. Oil leaking out of... Old Reddy! Oh, you're alive! I'd thought I'd lost you long ago... what? I- I don't understand. Wha- it was all a lie? Yes, it's all starting to add up. The sleepless nights... the constant moaning outside my windows... I'm the victim of an eternity-long practical joke! This will not stand. I want my lawyer. Who said I forfeited my movie rights? Someone get me a pen.