Oh Boy! Another Clusterfuck!

Why me again? I’m telling ya this damn Sprite has it in for me, kinda like Christine.

Something bone fucking simple had to go fucking sideways from clear out in left field.

A week or so I ordered a few more parts for this God Forsaken Piece Of Shit Sprite that has been the bane of my existence for well over thirty years now.

Simple stuff.

A throw out bearing, a dinky little Bronze bushing for the pivot point on the throw out arm, a couple of clips and a new actuating rod for the slave cylinder. 1/4 inch in diameter and two and a half inches long.


Yesterday afternoon I go out to get the mail and there is a little box from the outfit I ordered all this from.


I was on my way out of town to go see someone and just threw it on the seat next to me and drove off.

I got home about nine thirty, grabbed it and came in the house.

Open the thing up and it instantly turned into a What The Fuck Is This? moment.

The box was addressed to me but it had an invoice and someone else’s parts in it!


So first thing this morning I had to get on the damn phone and call these people to try and straighten their fucking mess out.

The guy’s name and address were on the invoice and I see he is in Astoria Oregon, on the coast about ninety miles from here. He ordered some bumper bolts for a Morris Minor and I’m pretty sure he, like anyone else, he is probably expecting them to show up, on time.

The outfit we both ordered parts from is down in Califuckingfornia.

Of course the first thing they want me to do is to send the parts back to them, so they can repackage them and then send them all the way back up to this poor dude who is waiting for them.

Fuck that I says.

I have the dude’s address, he is less than a hundred miles away from me so I am going down to the post office and mail him his damn parts.

Oh, the lady says.

Yeah, Oh, I ain’t giving you the choice honey.

It’s what I think of as THE RIGHT THING TO DO.

So she is nice enough, sees the wisdom of this move and tells me to send her a copy of my receipt so they can reimburse me for the shipping.

A whopping $8.30.

Plus all the fucking around.

So while I have the nice lady on the phone I inquired about the status of the parts I ordered a week ago.

Wait, no need to guess because you are right before you even say anything.

They are still at least another week out. Even though they were supposedly in stock according to their website when I ordered them.

So how in the fuck they got my address mixed up with this poor bastards order is beyond my imagination if my parts aren’t even in their possession yet.

Oh just for fun?

As I was out assessing just how badly the paint is coming off the nose of this thing lately, I notice the fucking windshield all of a sudden has a crack in it. All the way from the top to the bottom, with no apparent chip in it.




After I spent three days tearing two frames apart and putting a good windshield into a good frame and resealing the bastard a couple years ago.


It never fucking ends with this damn thing.

21 thoughts on “Oh Boy! Another Clusterfuck!

  1. I’m starting to think the car is possesed and the whatever-it-is just flat out enjoys the curve balls it throws at you, maybe you should call one of those ghost hunting shows and have them bring a priest for an exorcism.


    • I’m thinking Phil should just bring it to one of those junk yards that has a crusher where the car ends up being a small rectangular block and be done with it. He could then mount the block on a plinth in his front yard as a monument to the time and money he’s invested in this POS over the years.


  2. Insure the fuck out of and then have some bad boy steal it whilst you are away… or have them set it aflame and blame it on antipanties that were seen in your hood…


  3. Delamination crack! The worst part of classic glass.

    I saw this happen in real time with a ’56 sedan delivery’s back window. One second you’re seeing movement from the glass, next second it’s split.


  4. Phil, at least Christine was a Plymouth, though an *evil* Fury. Ya can’t get too frightened over a *vexing* Pommy Sprite! What do you call her, Mavis?


  5. It’s because it was made in the UK, which I pronounce as “Uck”.

    My firrst vehicle was a 67 MGB-GT in British Racing Green. Bought it from a friend who blew the engine and didn’t have the wherewithall to fix it. Yanked the engine with tranny affixed, and discovered it had spun a big end bearing. Local machine shop old dude Ray was terrific, he took a shining to me and helped get the crankshaft welded up, and turned down. New rod, bearings, rings and other stuff from JC Whitney and in a few weeks it was on the road. Then the troubles began. It kept eating the throw out bushing. Engine and tranny in and out 7 times until I had an inspiration and measured the ID of the tranny pilot hole in the flywheel and the OD of the tranny shaft. Guess what? Ray at the machine shop helped to determine that it was a 68 “high performance” engine (if a pre-WW2 designed MG engine could be considered “high performance”) matched to a 65 or earlier transmission. Got a new pilot bushing, my dad had the machine shop where he worked turn the bushing so the ID would actually match the tranny shaft and not get crushed when put back together and then I sold that effing car as fast as I could.

    Side draft Webbers? They stayed in tune until after the first time the engine heated up and cooled down. And on and on and on.


  6. …that’ll learn ya for owning a piece of shit British car…or apparently not, since you still have it, and can’t seem to bring yourself to move it to the next fool…the parts which on vintage Volvos makes for the most pain (in the ass) and suffering, are the Lucas electrics or Girling hydraulics…they were the chinashit of their day!

    Liked by 1 person

    • And don’t forget the mismanufactured nuts and bolts that instead of tossing them, called them Whitworth Form and infliced the world with them.


  7. British Leyland! Fucking dip dunk no load pus nuts shit for brains swivel headed cock sucking sons of asshole bitches british with a small b! Bail their worthless cross toothed asses out of the WWii and they send us that MG & Austin healy crap. Thank you very fucking much! Ever had the SU carb needles hone themselves out of round? Shit you need a ouija board to diagnose that one. The only british car worth a crap was the Sunbeam! Not the shitty Alpine the Carrol Shelby proud American genius re-worked Sunbeam Tiger with the 260, 289, yep 302 c.i.d. Fucking Ford drive train. Ewe waw ewe waw. I feel better now. That was close man. Put some wings on that Spppprite.


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