Detective Car, Car Detective, Take me away in your car

Car.

My mother watched me with tears streaming down her face as I was put into the black car with a broken headlight and three bumper stickers, all partially peeled off.

"I know there is a Heaven and a Hell," the radio played, and no one was ever sure again if I would become more and more like my captors, fat, producing coughing fits in abundance, eating slice after slice of Canadian bacon, saying "no" into the microphone with extra reverberation and extra echo.

"I could get used to this," I thought to myself, and I pulled off my old pants and put on the new yellow rubber ones they handed me. There was a large St. Bernard in the back seat, and he was looking suspicious of the old pants and happy about the new ones. Then the radio played, "Cat, we need you to rap," and I woke up some hours later in a yellow rubber sleeping bag with the St. Bernard licking my salty eye.

"Yeah yeah yeah yeah," faintly sang the radio from some other room.

I heard "No" echoing and reverberating through some faraway PA system.