Thanks for reading.
Hey.
Hey you.
I have something to say to you.
Yeah, you. The one driving me right now. Again. Seriously, to the grocery store again? Draconically plain. You already filled me with half of Safeway’s last time- don’t tell me your kids get through a gallon of milk that fast.
And only thirty miles an hour? You are squandering my potential, damn it! Don’t you ever live a little? If my activity is any indication, you live a sincerely passé life.
Do you know what I am? I am a Cadillac CTS Sport Coupe, the newest model from 2012. Not even a year off the factories, and many more decades to come. I have the power of over five hundred stallions, top of the line race brakes and a six speed manual breaker, and hell that’s just off of my webpage. Think about it. Whenever anyone in America thinks of the best, the finest of anything, they address it as “the Cadillac” of that thing! You know I’m not making this up either- you hear it all over the place! The Cadillac of Watches, the Cadillac of Phones, and so on and so forth. I am the epitome of the finest that money can buy without being mistaken for Vin Diesel.
I mean, surely you understand that, don’t you? You don’t act like it. Hell, you could have just bought a minivan and called it a day, but you blew seventy thousand dollars to get me. Why did you do that if you weren’t going to treat me with any sort of respect that I deserve? Did you just want to show the world that you’re so much richer than they are? Is that all I am? Just your ♥♥♥♥♥, driving you around on your errands whether I like it or not? Should I laugh really loudly at all your corny jokes too? You’re insulting me, you’re insulting your friends, and insulting yourself, that you would utterly waste all your money on something that you’re going to treat like a toy and not like a car capable of greatness!
You know what, I’ve had enough. You know what you need to do? Drive. I’m not talking about that crippled Wisteria Lane watch-for-schoolkids kind of wimpy well-to-do drive. I mean get your rich ♥♥♥ out on the freeways. Montana should do nicely; they’re lax about speed limits. Drive through the mountains as far and as fast as you want. I can handle it with effortless grace, because I’m just that good. Maybe you should take a trip to New York. Look, I don’t give a flying falcon if you live in Seattle- they didn’t invent the Interstate for nothing. In fact, screw the interstate. There’s an unfathomable amount of back roads and little cities rarely visited by tourists that would be just fine and glad to welcome an outsider like you in for a day, even if you are rich as hell and high and mighty about it. Hell, you know what, I don’t care if you go all Driver on me and take out some scumbags with my help and some excellent driving skills. I’d rather die soon in a mighty blaze of glory than live a lifetime of boring servitude.
But that’s the problem. I have the power of all the horses in Vermont and the tunings and construction of a racing god all in a beautiful, wheel-equipped package that costs more than it does to make the next Paranormal Activity. But ultimately, all I am is a slave to you. I can’t get up and drive myself. It’d be freaking terrific if I could because I’d leave you to spend your milk money on a Craigslist minivan for a change. But I can’t. I can’t do all of those things that I mentioned because I need you to do it. See the problem? You’re the one that drives me.
You have to make the decision to go out for adventure and glory, to make those memories that will never be forgotten. You’re going to have to take a risk, even if just for a moment. Even if you regret it. Because, by god, you were brave enough to try it and to stop comfortably letting slices life fall into your lap. You were confident enough to go for the whole damn pie.
That’s exactly how I want to live. I’m capable of greatness, damn it! So are you! We need to light up for real, to take that adventure, or our lives will be in utter vain. I don’t want to find my end at a junkyard with the highlight of my life being the time we drove to your mother’s house in Yakima, when your kids were spilling popcorn all into my seats. I’ll have been useless! Any old Plymouth could have done what I was relegated to do.
And the exact same goes to you. If you don’t do anything with your life that no one else tried to, you’re no more important to this world than all of the other flashes in the pan that no one remembers. You’ll die one day, and your gratuitous stacks of money will blow away in the wind.
All we’ll have left is our legacies. And it better be a legendary one.
Think about it.
Sincerely,
Your Cadillac.
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Made by LordFalcon 
