The Lying Nazi Bullshit Diesel was really picky about which diesel you put in it. I once stopped at a corner station in Tucson — 3 hours later the Lying Nazi came to a coughing halt.

The dealer said it had “dirty diesel” — like it’s AC/DC (dirty diesel done dirt cheap). Apparently diesel can mold in the tank, and mold clogged the Lying Nazi’s turbo jets.

So I used the same 7-11 (or is it a Circle K — who the hell knows) in Gilbert where all the landscapers filled their trucks. Me and my little girly VW in line with all the heavy trailers — just slightly emasculating.

That’s why I was generally pissed off every time I went to the gas station. It just reminded me of how screwed I was with that bullshit diesel.

One day, they closed the pumps. I had to drive halfway down the I-10 and fill up at one of the trucks stops in Eloy. I could feel my penis shrivel as I pulled my little VW between two tracker-trailers.

When the pumps re-opened, they had a new feature. In the middle of the pump was a screen. Every time you turn the pump on, the screen came on with some bullshit TV.

This is not me.  Look how happy she is in her yoga pants pumping gas.  This is some bullshit propoganda put out by the Gas Station TV industry.  I stole the image from this story.

It’s literally called “Gas Station TV” and they have little infomercials with a few quick hits of sports and news. God-damnit how do I get away from these fucking invasive ads.

I’m so sick of just seeing beer commercials and dick pills on the tennis channel. And if I watch CNN it’s just a litany of prescriptions and side-effects for shit they expect me to have — from diabetes to cancer.

For the first few weeks, I was just fuming as I filled the tank and tried to figure out how to get away from Gas Station TV. It was like the Mona Lisa — it’s little screen eyes followed me around the car as I washed the dead bugs off the windshield. I swear it had  a sensor and when I moved further away it turned up the sound.

In the first month, I spent a few minutes looking for an off switch. But the second you turn on the pump, on came Gas Station TV. You had no options.

I ignored it. But then a couple of times they played clips from the Dan Patrick Show and ESPN. OK, maybe Gas Station TV is not so bad.

One time, Gas Station TV was out. Broken on all the pumps around me. For the first few seconds, I felt relief. But then I looked into the landscapers’ faces and saw their sideways looks at my “muy pocito VW”.

And I longed to be washed away in the wasteland of bad TV. I felt a foreign urge come up inside me.

Yes, just like Sting…  I want my… I want my… I want my Gas Station TVeee.

I was pissed that I didn’t have it.

But all is well. They fixed the screen the following week, and now I’m back in in the comfort of being surrounded by dick-pill commercials and sarcastic sports highlights.

Updated:  Jan. 12, 2020

Now with fewer fucks.  

I re-read this piece of shit this morning and realized the only adjective in it was “fucking”.  So I removed most of them.  Dropped the word count by 15 (out of 580).

That was a 3-percent fuck rate — not bad for a married man.

It’s down to just one “fucking” — a 0.2-percent rate.  That’s a huge savings for lazy readers who don’t want to deal with all these fucking words…