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I love Ford trucks because they bring me closer to my dead grandpa

I'm the type of guy who isn't scared to embrace history.

By A. GeorgePublished 2 years ago 3 min read
5
These fellows are among grandpappy's closest friends nowadays.

I'm a real, honest American. I believe in the fundamentals: tradition, adherence to tradition, and taking offense to those who try to improve on tradition. If it was good enough for our forefathers, it's good enough for us. I'm not some statue-toppling leftist who gets their rocks off by erasing the lessons of the past.

When I assert my identity, I do it aggressively because I know I've earned it. Generations of unfettered economic nepotism grant me the right to stand up tall, hold my ground, and do it proud -just like my great-grandpapper.

I love my great-grandpappy more than anything. Well, almost anything. See, if I have one flaw, it's that I'm addicted.

My drug of choice is the bone-shattering vibration of my Ford truck. I can't even describe the thrill of almost running over a bicyclist or wild animal with my unwieldy catalytic-converter wildfire in waiting. Best of all, driving the Behemoth, as my pals call it with obvious envy, does the one thing the modern liberal media can never accomplish. It respects traditional values by bringing me closer to the old grand-great.

See, my grandpappy fought in a little something called World War II. Ever heard of it? Well, for those of you who've already sacrificed your brains to critical gender identity theory or whatever, it was a big mess over in Asia or something. If gramps hadn't gone, not a single bleeding-heart one of you would be able to enjoy your In-n-Out freedom fries.

Unlike most people nowadays, though, grandpapa was a critical thinker. After impregnating grammy, he signed up to ship off to Europe, figuring that at least they'd know how to speak English over there.

The only problem was that when gramps arrived, he got shot to death. Not right away, mind you - He was no coward. He was just good at hiding, and it took the enemy a while to find him on account of his ever-present wiliness.

When they did get him, you know how they did it? Well, as it turns out, those German guys weren't such jerks after all. They wanted to make him feel at home, and our family's from Michigan, so they shot him using a gun made in a replica Ford factory they'd built right there in Cologne! In fact, the production plant was so down-to-the-inch accurate that it even had real Ford executives and managers at the helm, not to mention genuine POW slave laborers. Talk about precision engineering and attention to detail!

Now, I'm well aware that some of you sheeple might say ol' Henry Ford did dirty by playing both sides of the fence, but I'm gonna let you in on a little secret. Somewhere, deep in a Ford family vault, there's a Grand Cross of the German Eagle, a billion dollars, and a commemorative plaque from the U.S. Business Hall of Fame that say he did both sides exactly right.

Sure, it sucks that gramps had to get caught in the middle, but I'm an optimist, you America-hating commie. That's why I feel so much more connected to the old guy. I'm proud to know that the truck I drive was serendipitously designed, fabricated, and assembled using intergenerational wealth accumulated by the same family that staked its claim on eradicating part of mine.

I'm sure gramps felt confident he'd done the right thing as his young life spilled out onto the frigid, unyielding ground. The gentle warmth of the Ford-made bullet in his abdomen must have been more than comfort enough. Sometimes I wonder, though: Did he ever imagine his great-grandson would go on to shred up the streets of Detroit (not the part with all the ethnic people, ugh) in a Ford truck of his very own? If he did, gramps doubtless died grinning from ear to ear.

I don't know. Maybe grandpa had other things on his mind at the time. I, however, will never forget the special connection we share. If you don't like it, well, suck it up, 'cause that's just Ford tough.

---

This post is fictional satire. Except for, unfortunately, pretty much all of the parts about Ford.

https://www.pbs.org/wgbh/americanexperience/features/henryford-antisemitism/

https://www.jewishvirtuallibrary.org/ford-motor-company-nbsp-and-the-third-reich

https://www.history.com/news/henry-ford-antisemitism-worker-treatment

https://www.theguardian.com/world/1999/aug/20/julianborger1

satire
5

About the Creator

A. George

A. George lives in a desert. Good gravy, it is oh so hot – In fact, even the gravy has congealed into a vague lump.

Won't you send A. George some water? Anything helps, even spit, sweat or particularly wet earwax. Please do not send blood.

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