The ’98 Bumble Beast rumbles and creaks.
He buzzes and roars, and sometimes he squeaks.
Like an ornery toddler, his mission in life
Is to run me to ground, cause mayhem and strife.
But amusement, not strife, his antics do bring,
For, “Beastie is mine! He’s so cute!” I oft sing.
“I am NOT cute!” his anger declares,
“I’m a furious beast!” and he rumbles and glares.
When receiving new blades his windshield to shine,
I gasp in great pleasure at the whoosh without whine.
And borrow a scene of Jane Austen’s fine wit
To describe just how my Beastie would put up a fit:
Said the Beast to the Puzzler:
“I can guess the subject of your reverie.”
“I should imagine not.”
“You are considering how insupportable it would be to pass many such journeys in this manner — in such chaos; and indeed I am quite of your opinion. I was never more annoyed! The buzzing and yet the noise; the nothingness in the engine and yet the rumbling of all these moving parts! What would I give to hear your strictures on them!”
“Your conjecture is totally wrong, I assure you. My mind was more agreeably engaged. I have been meditating on the very great pleasure which a pair of fine wipers on the windshield of an old Beast can bestow.”
The Beast immediately fixed his thoughts on the Puzzler’s face, and desired she should tell him what vehicle had the credit of inspiring such reflections. The Puzzler replied with great intrepidity,
“You, Bumble Beast.”
“I the Bumble Beast!” repeated the Beast, “I am all astonishment. How long have the wipers been such a favourite? — and pray when am I to wish you adieu?”
“That is exactly the question which I expected you to ask. A beasts’ imagination is very rapid; it jumps from admiration to favouritism, from favouritism to replacement, in a moment. I knew you would be wishing me adieu.”
“Nay, if you are so serious about it, I shall consider the matter as absolutely settled. You will have a charming vehicle payment, and of course it will always be at your bank account with you.”
The Puzzler listened to the Beast with perfect indifference while he chose to entertain himself in this manner, and as her composure convinced him that all was safe, his wit flowed long.
(stolen blatantly from chapter six of the fantastic Jane Austen’s Pride and Prejudice)