Used Cars: Christine
I bought my current car used, and I must say, I had some major paranoia when it came to that purchase. Sure, I bought it from a dealer and not a creepy old racist, but still, who knows who had owned the car before me. There is zero chance I would ever buy a car from an old man in the country. That isn’t ever happening, no matter how great of a deal I could get, thanks to Christine.
I avoid loving my car too much. I never gave it a name (or a gender for that matter) and I certainly won’t ever work on it myself. That’s not because I’m afraid of my hands getting dirty, I’m just afraid that any labor on my car will constitute some of my soul and love going into it, and then it will take those newly stolen soul bits and go on a crazy killing spree. Sure, Christine mostly protected its owner, but I sort of like the people around me, and I’d like them to not die as well. I really would just prefer that none of my girlfriends ever get choked in my car. That would put a major kink in my love life if I couldn’t even drive my girlfriend to dinner without her dying.
A tandem bicycle seems more like a viable option every time I watch Christine.