It’s been a little while since the last Would You Rather, hasn’t it? You’ve missed this, haven’t you? Of course you have. Your brain needs this sort of hypothetical exercise, just like your car needs its pedals Armor-All’d into glossy, black slippery, grip-less slabs. So let’s get to it.
Off we go! Would you rather:
A lump you pulled out of your armpit with some tweezers has come to life, and is now begging you to set it free in the wilderness, where it can romp with its own kind. In exchange for this act of kindness, the Magic Lump will provide you with the car of your dreams.
And, it’s literally from your dreams: you sit and imagine any (let’s say existing in reality) car you want, and the Magic Lump will cause the car to exist, via lumpen magic and some connections the Lump has over at the Department of Transportation.
There’s a catch, though, because nothing is free: the car runs on your life force. It’s a 1:1 ratio. That means, for every hour you drive the car, that’s an hour off your lifespan. You go on a 12 hour roadtrip, you’ll die 12 hours sooner.
Oh, and I should clarify that the car still uses gas (or diesel, or whatever) but the life-force cost is just to make it exist at all. It’s magic, remember? But the life force only gets used while driving; you can leave it parked in your garage and it won’t suck away your precious life.
So, is it worth it to you? The car is amazing, but if you drive it all the time, you could be shortening your life by what could become significant amounts? But maybe, with a car like that, it’s worth it!
Okay, got it? If that situation isn’t appealing, maybe you would rather:
You’re at a car show. Let’s say the focus of this car show is your particular automotive weakness – your absolute favorite type of car. I suppose for me that could be some sort of Brazilian-market air-cooled VW show, maybe. Whatever it is for you, you’re in heaven, surrounded by cars you love.
You find one particular car that really catches your attention. It’s stunning. You walk up to it, smitten, desperately fighting the urge to run your hands over it. You’re about to give in and touch it when, from behind you, someone says hello.
You’re startled, afraid you’ve been caught almost caressing someone’s car, but it’s okay! It’s the owner, and he’s happy you like the car. Go ahead, touch it! Have a seat inside! Feels good, right? Amazing, isn’t it. You’d like to drive it, wouldn’t you? Guess what – you can! In fact, you can keep it at your house, and drive it anytime you want!
Oh, there’s just one catch.
See, the owner happens to be part of a secret society of well-heeled fetishists who love nothing more than watching someone really into a particular car sit in that car and, um, make themselves happy. Like, genitals-happy. See where I’m going?
The guy offers you a deal: you can use the car – or any other car within his secret society – with all costs, repairs, and insurance paid – but, twice a month, you and the car have to show up to a remote garage where, in front of the whole club, you must disrobe, sit in the car, and pleasure yourself to, um, the end.
No cameras, no names, nothing like that, but this must happen twice a month for as long as you want use of the car.
So what’s it going to be – your dream car for part of your life, or your dream car, if you perform for some creepy rich pervs?
As always, I’m excited to see where the discussion goes. This is how we grow our brains, people.