Oh My God. Oh. My. God. on 2040-cars
Seattle, Washington, United States
Body Type:Pickup Truck
Vehicle Title:Clear
Engine:2,302 cc 2.3 liters in-line 4 front longitudinal
Fuel Type:Gasoline
For Sale By:Private Seller
Year: 1996
Make: Mazda
Model: B-Series Pickups
Cab Type (For Trucks Only): Regular Cab
Trim: Base
Options: CD Player
Drive Type: Rear-wheel
Safety Features: Anti-Lock Brakes, Driver Airbag
Mileage: 130,504
Power Options: Air Conditioning
Exterior Color: Red
Interior Color: Gray
Number of Cylinders: 4
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Attention Scallywags: Do not apply.
Have you ever asked yourself, "how can I be more badass with women?" If so, read the heck on! Behold the *magic* that is this manly piece of badass, Mazda B2300, pure balls-to-the-wall, instant "manly factor" multiplier. This screams "I'm a man's man!" + a billion. This is only for real men looking to add a little bit of edge to their life -- looking to score hot dates with supermodel chicks who are supermodels. From Europe. And Brazil. And Texas. Because when you roll up in this grizzly, people will automatically l^O^Ok at you, and know that you don't give a flying rat's "F" about anything in life....especially not superficial things like a fancy-ass Mercedes Royce or having the newest designer pet chihuahua. Go sip on your latte, and get outta' my face! This rough and tumble machine doesn't care about your $1,500 terry cloth robe, or your pedicures. He doesn't play by the rules! Why? Because he's a true badass, and a true badass starts at the ground up with a solid chassis built from pure bull testosterone, ice cold domestic beer, a little bit of steel, and a dash of Chuck Norris. Suck on that! Well guess what, @$$hole. It only gets better from here.... Next, Mazda's engineers who have all won Nobel Prizes in badassery, sorcery, and scoring with chicks, strapped a gutsy power plant to the frame that wasn't built for the faint of heart. They started big at 70 horsepower. But they didn't stop there. After simultaneously shotgunning 4 beers, and smashing the cans on their forehead like any true badass would do, they ingeniously devised a way to crank up the horsepowerage to a breathtaking, 112 sweaty horseballs, power. That's right. Let's see if you can tame all 112 of these monsters. $5 and a case of Pabst says you can't! But I welcome your challenge. It'll be a real test of your manhood. If you push this beast hard enough, you can almost chirp the wheels in first beer...I mean, gear. B-I-T-C-H-I-N'!!! To take it a step further, they custom fitted this monster beast with a plush (but not too plush, because too plush would be for sissies, and this pig ain't for no sissy, girly, boy) nylon covered bench seat. It's perfect for having your supermodel chick girlfriends slide on over closer to you, so you can throw your dude arm across her silky, smooth, shoulder blade skin that smells like cocoa butter and sexy, in a real Rico Suave-esque manner. For added effect, and just to show its durability, I ripped a seam on the driver's side, just to show that it won't get its feelings hurt. Because he ain't no sissy! It's a badge of honor that this hoss proudly wears. DEAL WITH IT, BIOTCHES! And tell your girlfriend to respect the rules of this piece. You shut your mouth when you're talking in my truck! But hold on to your mantitties, because we're not done yet! Real men don't believe in power anything, unless it's power tools, power cleans, the power of Jesus, and powerball. Therefore, this tiger comes equipped with "crank-it-your-own-d a m n-self" windows. They work, because they're mechanical. And that's all I'll say about that! If you want a pansy, tutti-fruitti, power windows, cushy girl car, go get your boring ass in a stupid Japanese-built wussy Toyota Camry, and be a lifelong loser, because this ain't for you. Because you're a man of iron, black coffee, and grit, you only rock out to the most badass, fist-pumping, knockout, bare knuckles boxing, alligator wrasslin' anthem that clearly defines your amazing existence as a man. In order to jam out every day of your life, Mazda helps you in that department too, by cramming in a heart stoppin', pumpin', thumpin', bassin' factory installed sound system. But they didn't get too carried away. Because this ain't no low-rider, L.A. car show contestant trying to show off his $80,000 Pioneer sound system. That's WEAK SAUCE!!! Nope. This rugged hog is a major contestant in "Being A Wicked Extreme Badass!" So shut your pie hole, and pump up your MANthem! Let the city b i t c h e s hear it! I don't care much for bright colors myself. But I also have a reputation to keep. Choosing an exterior color can make or break you. Because you're a man that doesn't give a crap about that stuff, and nothing gets to you, you know deep in your man soul, that you can't be broken. You sip Jameson whiskey straight from the bottle, dump that $hit in your coffee, and brush your teeth with it. For this badass-ness, only one color can accurately describe your life. Cherry-freakin'-red. Buckle in, asshole. This manmobile shouts to mother earth that you are secure in your manhood. So grab your crotch, and be proud you have a big, swingin' dick, and push the pedal to the floor, racking up poor gas mileage along the way. Actually, not really. Even though you might be fooled by it's brawny exterior, he can be a gentle soul too, averaging in neighborhood of 20-25 miles per gallon. But let's not get too over-the-top, here. He has a manly reputation to preserve. This husky scamp has a history of kicking ass and taking names. It's been trekked everywhere from the dusty, stinky petroleum $hit fields of Lubbock, Texas, to the border-crossing streets of San Diego; from the steep ice and snow covered mountain drives of Northern California, to the hippie, potsmokin' backroads of Seattle and Portland. Here, he quietly rests, waiting for the next proud owner to unhinge its raw, burly, hauling power. Finally, it's understood and implied that this may be more than you can handle. So to tone down its scarred, beefy body, and to give the impression that despite its mighty Herculean persona of blood, guts, booze, and unfiltered cigarettes, it received a Jesus tattoo many moons ago. It's a tattoo that shows it cares about other important things in life, like raising a good family, medium-rare cow beef steaks, Lava hand soap, Saturday nights with the guys, Dallas Cowboys football, automatic rifles, American flags, and The God blessed, fire-breathing, Constitution of the United States of George Bush's America. Amen! This hard-bodied stud likes the cold, hard, Benjamins or cashier's cheques. I even spelled it fancy-like to show that I'm no fool when it comes to economic matters. I might even be willing to part with this brute savage for a check. But if it bounces, I'll punch you in chest plate, and move on to somebody more financially adept. It's almost too good to be true. So good, that I'm actually thinking about just keeping it......But no. I made a commitment, and I need to see it through. I must be strong. Must. Be. Strong. So hurry up and get your meathooks on it soon, before some other carpetbaggin', hellion monkey drives off into the brisk morning air with him. Q and A: -Wes, do you deliver to my location?: Yes. And you've just learned something else about me. That's right, my name is Wes. And your name is "lucky sonofagun" if you make the best choice of your life and pay me cold, hard cash for this ridiculous ride. -What about safety features, Wes?: Yeah, what about 'em? Look, the government governs the way you can unleash this mule on public roads, it also deems that certain safety features come standard, and that you are to use them accordingly. Fine. Whatever. So you tell yourself, "I'm a badass no matter what, but I'll keep myself from getting locked up at county with a guy named Tiny, another named Jingles, and a third guy named Tom. So I'll wear this safety harness across my rock-hard body, and flip on the headlights during the evening hours of dark. But I won't be happy about it, and I'll roll down my window and yell obscenities at old ladies, because I can! Bite me, government rules." The point is, all that crap works. And it works well. Would you expect anything less though? I mean, really?! Just look at it. -The paint's a little dinged up: Yeah, well, that's called real life. It comes at you fast, bro. Besides, you really want this glimmering, shimmering sex machine catching the eye of some small time thief? You really don't want to be living your own version of Pee Wee's Big Adventure. Consider the lived-in feel a natural crime deterrent. If this truck were denim jeans, it'd be called "de-stressed" and you'd be paying extra for the privilege. I'm not gonna charge you extra for it, though, because I'm not trying to take advantage of you. But you should take advantage of this once-in-a-lifetime opportunity. -But, aren't you sad about selling the greatest truck on earth?: No. When you drive this strapping ogre once it permanently eliminates your ability to feel sad about anything ever again. Even for little puppies who are afraid to walk down the stairs, because the stairs...they're so big, and they're so little. Puppies who are young, but have already discovered the world to be a cold, unforgiving place. But you won't give a $hit about it because you'll be in your awesome new truck living the dream. |
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