. . . okay . . . now, I'm really depressed . . . last night, I had a phone conversation with my friend - the ex-Honda mechanic (hasn't worked in a shop in over ten years) and he told me what a complete idiot I was to have removed the vacuum lines and that I'll have to put them all back together or I can forget EVER having a reliable idle again (plus other problems w/distributor & blah, blah, blah) . . .
. . . he also said I'd need to use a special tool to remove the crank pulley . . . something like a chain that wraps around the pulley and tightens up so you can then use another tool to undo the crank pulley bolt . . .
. . . if there was any possible way to get out of this mess I would . . . but I need a car really bad and I have no money . . . so . . . what other choice do I have but to continue to work on it . . .
. . . I feel like the guy who got stranded in the desert . . . 115 degree heat and no water . . . a car hasn't been by in hours and then one comes by and stops . . . the car has two occupants - both are retirement-age religious zealots who are intent on "saving" the guy . . . one of them is wearing a tan leisure suit and obviously haven't bathed in what smells like several months . . . the other has greasy hair and is wearing white socks with shiny black shoes, and has a pack of cigarettes rolled up in his tattered plaid sleeve . . . the driver pleads emphatically for the stranded motorist to hop in . . . it's 38 miles to the closest form of human life and the decision to join them doesn't come easy . . . lingering for an uncomfortable amount of time with uncertainty and contemplating the buzzards have been following for about an hour, the stranded motorist grudingly gets into the drastically faded red Ford Fairlane with the zealots . . . all the while wondering why things like this always seem to happen to him . . .
. . . sometimes, life just really sucks . . . I hate my car!!!
DIE CAR!!! DIE!!!
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