John tried to defend his choice of transmission by saying that it was “for his wife”. I then told him to go fuck himself because I wasn’t going to participate in his homo erotic fantasies of beating little Jews up, driving in tiptronic Porsches, and carrying around a man-bag. Instead, I told him that he should learn to drive stick like a real man. He hung up on me and fifteen minutes later he walked through the dealership doors, picked up my computer monitor, slammed it on the floor, and said next time it’s your face, now get me a fucking Porsche and walked out.

I called John an hour later and said we should make a compromise. If he wants to get a tiptronic and be a woman he should even it out by buying a turbo. He agreed and told me to find the car and find it fucking fast. I already have it John, I said, I drove it over to the dealership feeling like half a woman but then I realized I didn’t have a man bag so I am only a quarter woman. FUCK YOU JEW he yelled, bring it to me I’m at a strip club that we will call “Gold Platinum Titties”. So I drop the Porsche outside of Gold Platinum Titties because that’s what he told me to do, “put it in the parking lot and go back to your Jew dealership!” OKAY FAG, the car is in the parking lot, enjoy it.

Three hours later after the dealership was already closed, John called me demanding that I “open up the fucking doors or I will murder your children!” I don’t have children but that’s they way he is, FREEKING NUTS. A few minutes later, John comes flying into the garage, gets out of the car, and falls over PISS DRUNK with white powder covering the entire black leather interior. I’d like to take the high road and say that it was flour or powdered sugar, but unfortunately I know all to well that John doesn’t bake any cakes while driving his exotic cars.

There was a woman in his car absolutely butt naked with no clothes anywhere in site! When I asked where her clothes were, John gave me one of the oddest stories ever. Apparently John and this naked woman (a stripper from the club) were engaging in some “in-car activities”. Sex, drinking, coke…anyway John hit a few parked cars and then claims that the police were chasing him so he tossed the strippers clothes out the window to distract the police. He even claimed that her big ass high heels dented the shit out of a cop car. So now here I am sitting there with John, a naked Stripper, enough cocaine to make Escobar blush, and a brand new screwed up Porsche that was supposedly purchased as a gift for his wife. To make matters worse, John was now transferring all his stuff from the Porsche to a red Ferrari 360 Modena we had sitting there. He demanded the keys and I did as I was told, gave him the fucking keys. He took a stack of cash ($10,000) from his man-bag tossed it in my face and said “fix my fucking Porsche and change the license plates, keep the change little asshole.”

He rode off into the sunset with his naked friend and I came out unscathed with some cash in my pocket. I called him a few hours later and asked how his wife liked the Ferrari and the naked stripper. As usual he threatened to kill me, my family, my friends and my dog, but he invited me out to dinner over the weekend because I did such a good job selling him two cars in one day.

I knew something far more odd or life altering would happen at dinner, but I just didn’t quite know what it would be. That was the fun of John, you always knew something bad was going to happen but never knew exactly what…either way you can catch that story at the beginning of next week, because I’ve got a special story in store for Valentine’s Day.

He was a big big Italian fellow who happened to carry a LV or Gucci man-bag around. In the bag was always a huge wad of cash and a gun. Well, I was the only person brave or stupid enough to constantly make fun of him about his man-bag. I made fun of him so much that he grew to like me and ultimately decided to his buy cars from me instead of the other sales guy.

Well, let me just tell you how hard (let’s call him John) John was to deal with. If he wanted a car, you had better be sure you had it, and if you didn’t, you better get it before he shows up or a scream-fest would follow suit. I recall sitting in my office chair and getting a call from John:

John: Do you have my lime green Lamborghini yet?
Lizard: No John
John: Look down at your chest

I looked down and there was a red dot on my chest.

John: I’m across the street pointing a rifle at your chest, get me my fucking lime green Lambo

…then he slammed the phone down

That was just the many times I had a gun pointed at me by John who had more guns than the US military and I am not even coming close to exaggerating.