The Cult of Cars, Racing and Everything That Moves You.
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An Open Letter To Cesar, Who Thinks My Truck Is Junk

My Isuzu pickup is very much not junk, Cesar, so shut up

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Cesar, we have to stop this. Several times a week, I get your little card you’ve stuck in the window of my truck. I get it. You think my truck is junk, and that you can buy it for $100 to $1000 and do God knows what with it. Well, Cesar, I hate to break it to you, but my truck, while usually filthy, is not junk.

Do you know how it feels, Cesar, to come out to your car, only to find it tagged as junk? It hurts, Cesar. It hurts deeply. It’s the automotive equivalent of sitting in front of a coffee shop, enjoying the day and your beverage, only to have some callous and well-meaning passer-by drop a couple of dimes and a Canadian penny into your Chai tea. It’s a judgement, Cesar, and it stings.


Plus, Cesar, you judgmental sack of crap, what criteria are you using, anyway? My truck is a 1995 Isuzu pickup. It runs great, it has space invader stickers on it, it usually has a bed full of stuff (currently: wood scraps, an old Beetle hood, a huge, broken, 80s-era GRiD laptop), and while in need of a bath, is hardly a “junk car”. Hell, Cesar, it’s not always in the same spot when you shove your little card on it! That should be a big hint it’s motile.

Look, Cesar, I don’t mean to get so worked up, but I’ve developed a relationship with this truck. As a guy who occasionally builds big things, having a truck has opened so much opportunity, artistically. Having a truck means the difference between being able to do something pretty cool and something amazing. Scale can be a big factor in art, and a truck gives you the ability to use that. For lots of artists, a truck is as much a tool as a paintbrush or welding torch. So back off, with your little junk cards.


This is my truck, Cesar. I’m not sure what the cold world of junk car vulturism has done to you, but I implore you to look deeply into the blackened husk of your heart, really look at my truck next time, and give it a pass. Put the card back in your pocket, and accept that my truck is a hard-working, respected member of my automotive family.

Plus, I know you stole the illustration of the Beetle on your card from John Muir’s famous VW repair book, and I’m totally telling.