Before we go any further, I want to be very clear about something: there’s nothing I won’t do for my readers. I am, above all other things, committed and dedicated to the fine men and women who devote themselves to following my work and tirelessly reading through the brilliance that I offer. As proof of this, I recently attended a special event at a Ford dealer whose location will remain undisclosed for legal reasons to promote the latest line of impressive Ford models.
While most of these sorts of promotions involve large inflatable humanoid shapes flailing about in what looks like the tortured agony of the damned or appearances by local radio stations, this one was quite different. Originally, they planned to have a burlesque performer do a sexy little routine to bring in customers. Local parents complained about this for some reason, so the dealership had a performance artist put on a show instead. And what a show it was…
The Curtain Opens
This remarkable performance began simply enough: there was a relatively humble stage adorned with a wooden chair, and a sturdy folding table draped in an eggshell-white linen tablecloth set with a single dinner plate, a fork, and a steak knife. Across from this setup was a brand-new, shiny 2022 Ford Bronco in what appeared to be Velocity Blue. A man then walked onto the stage dressed in black slacks and a white dress shirt – he was barefoot, but that was hardly the strangest thing about the evening.
Without a word, he crossed the stage and sat down in the single chair at the table. He pulled a handkerchief from his pocket, fluttered it once dramatically, and then tucked it into the neckline of his shirt like a napkin. He picked up the fork and knife but sat with silent expectation. Music began to play from unseen speakers. I can’t say for sure, there was a great deal of distortion on the audio, but I believe it was a Leonard Cohen song or perhaps something by The Pixies.
Dinner for One
What happened next is something I’m still trying to fully understand. Several large men came out and began taking the Ford Bronco apart. They removed the doors––they are designed to come off––and placed one door on the plate in front of the man. He then started to saw at the door with the steak knife, using the fork to hold it in place. Remarkably, he could achieve his efforts relatively easily, and a small piece of the door came off, impaled delicately on his fork. The man looked at it for a moment, seeming to appreciate its shape, and inhaled through his nose, savoring the bouquet of its aroma.
After a moment, he placed the piece of the Bronco into his mouth, sliding it lovingly between his teeth, and began to chew. The audience––I was joined by three or four dozen others––watched in rapt silence as he chewed and swallowed the bite of the SUV. He then went back for another bite, slicing each piece off with the steak knife and relishing the flavor every time. He ate the entire door, then the other door, which was placed before him by the same large men––this was a two-door Bronco model.
Next came the roof, which was easily removed, and then each tire, one after another. It didn’t matter what the men placed before him––he cut into it with a knife and fork and tucked into it with ravenous delight. The large men then used an acetylene torch to take the Bronco apart, large piece by large piece. Each part of the vehicle was placed upon the plate before the stranger, and each one was devoured with a zeal I’ve rarely seen before. It required a full four hours, but in the end, the man had eaten every last part and piece of the Bronco––finishing his meal by playfully tucking a spark plug into his mouth, his eyes sparkling as though he’d just eaten the most delightful little amuse-bouche.
The Passage of Time
What happened next, however, was truly the most remarkable part. The man stood up from the table, unbuckled his belt, lowered his pants, and [content deleted]. Once all was said and done, the Bronco successfully passed, and I approached the strange fellow and congratulated him on a remarkable performance. I asked him about the act, and he would answer only a single question. When I inquired if the routine had a name, he smiled and said, “The auto industry.”
Editor’s Note: It took three of us several tries to make it all the way through this piece, particularly the final “passage” in which the author described, in truly robust detail, the process by which the strange man “passed” the vehicle from out his bowels. We chose to delete this bit, even though it reduced the word length of the piece by more than half, and we assure you that you owe us a great deal of thanks. While we initially refused to print this article, we’ve since verified the story with local news sources and feel this should be part of the public record. Thank you.