Skirmish after skirmish, battle after battle, finally we have taken down the stalwart and sturdy steel water buffalo! This war of wills, brawn and finance -- I mean liars, cheats and thieves -- wasn't pretty. And we are out of coffee.
The "deal," an intriguing and illusive creature itself, finally lead us to our pray; the 3,200 pound Yaris (Japanese for water buffalo I think...). The two have a symbiotic relationship. Our hunt has become a war. The water buffalo, now being fiercely protected by a rogue group of pirates patrolling the Auto-Mile. The Toyota Yaris, its actual species name, is easy pray once you get her out in the open. They can easily be downed with correct caliber financial instrument. The problem is the network of small but dangerous obstacles, terrain and somewhat spooky creatures we encountered on our 5 day safari. Like true survivors, we dealt with each one as we encountered them, some with stealth and others with a barrage of small arms fire (code for angry phone calls and sarcastic messages). You see the water buffalo is a highly protected beast in these parts, one whose hide brings tens of thousands of dollars. Especially now that similar species such GM and Chrysler are virtually extinct and being run by a totalitarian government.
It was an emotional hunt, filled with tears and excitement-- and some -- well slang and a few hand gestures. Oh, and a dirty job (see the above pic - this was Dealer Lot). But we were looking for the trophy kill. Our team of three worked with military precision - the likes of the Navy Seals, the Green Barret and other special forces. I had the privilege of serving as general under my daughter, the not even close to first woman, Commander and Chief, along with our military analyst named Bill (not his real name, because he is well, under cover), code named banker. My job was intelligence (he he), Bill's job: reconnaissance and financial supply line. The commander,well she stepped right into the trenches with us taking a few, but no fatal hits, from a pesky finance manger.
From the very beginning we had our sights on the target and keep the salesman and his manger at bay with some very ego inflating phone calls. From a distance we could see the "big one;" horns glistening in the midday sun. Almost like a mirage, it seems to have the circular diopters of a scope -- certainly this was a sign from the heavenlies, wasn't it?
We were prepared having camped out the weekend and looking at other trophies in the same price range -- dealing - waiting -- and causing our opponent to scramble -- each unanswered phone call a better deal, a lower interest rate. We had the pirates of Metro West on the run. (Did you ever wonder why pirates would operate in dry land? Me too!) It was like we had cut off the blood supply. But our pray is a patient beast, rarely showing its hand. That is why we hired Bill-- what an expert in this particular barbarian behavior. Always knowing what is a good deal, what can be negotiated - but because he was undercover, we sometimes wondered if he was secretly working for the enemy.
Back-to-back, the commander and I sat in the foxhole all weekend. The cell radio crackled with "BS," a language that I am somewhat familiar with. Together, we were wondering when to take, what was going to be our only shot at the Yaris on this trip. It was going to take real skill to knock out the pirates. After all we had escaped them jumping into the Mustang just last Thursday, only getting close to the beast for a short test drive.
The pirates called with a 12 o'clock deadline on their 0% deal... water buffalo are cunning, they never call you, they have someone else do the dirty work - but quickly adding the numbers we found this just to be more smoke. No, Banker said to move at 3. Passing the check point, and navigating the Sally Port, we approached Banker's command center. With armed guards and computers screens everywhere- an HD TV playing propaganda from CNN, we sign secret documents. The scene was something out of Robo Cop.
We made our move at 15 hundred hours.
Here is a picture just moments before the take down. We were close, close enough to smell victory.
And finally they surrendered and we took the shot. Victory was ours. I felt like tearing my shirt or head butting the salesman! The commander was so excited she forgot to the sign the bank check. But it didn't matter, shortly we were going to be posing for pictures. The wait was over, the casualties on their side many, the war debt on our side substantial.