Very amusing ad and may be a way forward in marketing your car when you decide its time for a change. We revisit this feature from 2016
Truly Hateful Porsche 944 For Sale
“This Car Got Me Sectioned”
Writing from my bed at the Psychiatric Unit, St Mary’s Hospital, Southampton, on the advice of my medical consultant I am putting my despised Porsche 944 up for sale.
Why? Well, for starters it’s been spreading lies about me on Facebook, saying that since my wife left me my love-life has been reduced to a bottle of 75w-90 semi-synthetic and a gerbil named Keith, which is ridiculous … I hate semi-synths. And then there’s the disobedience … I’ll explain:
I bought this car last year knowing it needed brakes, clutch adjustment and some general fettling and tidying. But it had good history, including recent belts and tensioners, good miles (137k) and was a reasonable price.
I had it trailered back and started work, getting my garage to sort the clutch and fit new discs and pads all round.
My wife was still sore at me for spending the IVF money on the car and garage bills but I was sure a morning spent in the back whilst I threw it through some bends would put her right. Alas, we never got that far.
I’m not sure if the car refusing to start from cold was a display of jealousy, but it certainly drove a wedge between me and Debbie from that day on. So much so she was completely unsupportive of my subsequent campaign to remedy this cold start issue, flatly refusing to take on any extra cleaning shifts or even to apply for the part-time jobs at McDonalds and Burger King that I circled for her in the back of the newspaper.
Fast forward two months and Debbie comes home crying. I imagine it’s because her arms are hurting from the three mile walk with the groceries (she has a low pain threshold) but I ask her what’s up anyway. She tells me. I do the good husband thing, pause the rugby and put the kettle on for her to make herself a cup of tea while I open one of the four-packs she’s brought home. I then calmly explain why all the jewellery she inherited from her mother is in Cash Converters window: “Compression Test, Leak Down Test” I start ticking them off on my fingers, “Fuel Pressure Test; Injector Clean and Spray Pattern Test; New Fuel Pump, Fuel Regulator, Fuel Lines and Fuel Filter; Supply Damper; Timing Check and Adjust; DME and Relay Check; New Temp Sensor; Starter Motor Refurb; New Timing Belt and Tensioner, New Thermostat, Electric Fan and Air Auxiliary Valve … These all cost money, Debbie.”
But it must have been her time of the month because she became very unreasonable, calling me derogatory names and throwing things at me. Then she left. She came back the next day, but only to pack a suitcase. I haven’t seen her since.
I won’t bore you with many more details, suffice to say Debbie filed for divorce, clearing the house one Saturday afternoon whilst I was tinkering in the garage, leaving me just a chair and my laptop.
And so my research began: cold start issues on a Porsche 944 2.5 8v. I cross-referenced the work I’d already had done against endless forum postings, occasionally finding a snippet of something sensible, only for the post to deteriorate into irrelevant oily posturing and arguments about the pronunciation of Porsche …
Two weeks in and I was none the wiser; in fact I was utterly confused and very nearly broke.
It was a day or two later that I first heard the voices. They were quiet at first, mere whisperings, but they told me things … They told me that Porsche were run by a secret organisation of hybrid reptilian aliens who wanted to take over the world, and that Leonardo Da Vinci (who was one of them) had designed the first 911 back in 1518 (the year before he died) as a Popemobile. Of course I didn’t believe them; I knew Leonardo had died in 1912 when the Titanic sank.
The voices told me to look at the numbers: 356 + 911 + 914 x 928 + 924 – 944 x 968 + 964 – 993 + 996 – 986 – 987 x 997 x 991 = -1.038049 ….
I was astonished, there it was, plain as day, it explained everything: Porsche were Illuminati … confirmed.
I published my findings immediately on Facebook and Pistonheads and was sectioned by my doctor the next day.
And so I find myself here, on a narrow bed, with a drug-induced grin in the psychiatric unit of St Mary’s Hospital.
And some friend the car has turned out to be, git hasn’t visited me once. I bet it’s found the my savings, though, and is blowing them at the Bodyshop as I write, trying to make itself pretty for the next poor fool. Slut!
There it is, my sad and cautionary tale of an attempt at Porsche 944 ownership. It’s cost me £3,000 in parts and labour, plus what I spent on the car originally. It starts and runs fine from warm but is a bugger from cold, and trying to work out what’s wrong has driven me mad. It has to be something simple but I’ve run out of money and sanity to chase after it. There are some small electrical niggles that I haven’t attempted yet – indicators, horn, etc – as they weren’t a priority, and the windscreen is milky towards the edges. Paint is dull and has rubbed through in a few places. Small area of corrosion around aerial base. Small dent to rear o/s quarter behind arch. Cracked dash. Tyres aren’t the best. This is still very much a non MOT’d restoration project.
To summarise, this is what I’ve had done:
New Discs & Pads
New Fuel Pump
New Fuel Relay
New Fuel Regulator
New Fuel Lines and Fuel Filter
New Supply Damper
New Temp Sensor
Starter Motor Refurb
New Electric Fan
New Air Auxiliary Valve
Compression & Leak Down Test
Fuel Pressure Test
Injector Clean and Spray Pattern Test
Timing Check and Adjust
DME and Relay Check
New Timing Belt and Tensioners
To be honest I don’t want to sell this car at all. I want to push it into a lake, or over a cliff, or open a fuel line and flick a match. Alas, it’s one of the conditions I have to meet before they’ll discharge me from hospital. They say my selling it will be evidence that I can ‘let go responsibly.’
You’ve been warned.
Oh, forgot to mention that Test-Pilots, Tyre-Kickers and Time-Wasters are most welcome.
Call me (Robert) to discuss the car, or anything else you may be unsure about, ie: Gender, Favourite Colour, whether or not Darth Vader is your Father …
Deposit of £100 required within 24hrs of Auction End or I’ll offer this heap of junk to someone else and report you to the Pope.
On 24-Jul-16 at 22:57:22 BST, seller added the following information:
Update: my consultant allowed me to use his computer today to read some of the emails I’ve been getting about the car. I wasn’t too happy with his conditions (it’s very sore to sit for long periods now) but he assured me it would be worth it.
I’ve had a few suggestions about how to remedy the cold start that I though I’d share:
1: Cold Start Injector … I didn’t know there was one!
2: Remap ECU if it’s been changed.
3: Read the car a story.
4: Replace distributor cap. Is this a bit like putting the cap back on the toothpaste?
5: Put the car to bed with a blanket.
To be honest, I’m not interested in starting the malicious git ever again as it’ll only get me going again.
Oh, I forgot to say, Debbie came to visit me today. She’d changed her make-up; her mascara was really neat around her eyes rather than running down her cheeks like she used to wear it. She looked quite decorative, too, almost pretty, though it might have been the drugs. Anyway, she’d come to show me something, she said.
“What,” I asked?
For some reason she pulled up her jumper to show me her stomach.
“Jesus, Debbie, you want to slow down on the Doritos,” I told her.
She narrowed her eyes and wiggled a finger at me. It sparkled.
“Oh, Brilliant,” I enthused, “you bought back one of the rings.”
She shook her head, which annoyed me as I really hate guessing games. She then went to the door and let in a man. He glowered at me as he entered.
“This is Dean,” she said. “We’re engaged.” Dean affirmed this with a manly nod. Debbie patted her pudding stomach. “And I’m pregnant.”
I got quite angry at that. Actually I got really angry at that. The doctor came in. Then two orderlies. They restrained me. They gave me an injection. I started to calm down but it still bugged me to realise that all this time she’d been deceiving me … someone I’d trusted had been holding out on me. Standing there shameless, with a baby in her belly, it was obvious she’d had enough money for the IVF all along. Selfish bitch. It just goes to show that you never really know people at all.
Copyright and well done to the writer. Hope he is feeling better soon.