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Alas, Alack, Alarm

I've just come up with a idea for an invention.  I was inspired, really.  I woke up from a dead sleep, and there it was, plain as day.

My invention is for a new kind of car alarm, and a truly revolutionary one at that.  This new car alarm would go off only when the car that is armed with it is actually being stolen, unlike a normal car alarm, which goes off, to all evidence, anytime a BUG FARTS WITHIN THIRTY FUCKING YARDS OF IT.

And I quote:


booooooooeeeeEEEEEP!  booooooooooeeEEEEEP!


booooo-deeeeee, boooooo-deeeeee!"

Hey, at least you can sing along to it.  I often do.  With enough practice, it can be almost soothing, much in the way that pressing a running belt-sander against your testicles almost tickles.  At any rate, it's preferable to the alarms that just go:


I mean, really.  "BEEP."  How trite.

Sure, my new car alarm is a tough sell.  Car owners obviously like being kept abreast of dangerous developments in the vicinity of their cars, such as airplanes flying overhead, buses rumbling by, and light from the sun reflecting off the hood, each a deadly threat that will prompt the nervous automobile to scream for help.

Planning on walking through a parking lot?  Well, best wrap your feet in sofa cushions and speak in hushed tones, for today's car alarms are more sensitive than a chubby teenager with braces whose father cuts his hair.  I'm not aware of the personality traits of the person who designed these alarms, but I suspect he might be described as, in a word, "jumpy."  Still, it takes a certain brilliance to creative a device that can pick up and react to the sound of a cloud slowly changing shape thirteen thousand feet overhead, so I'll give him that.  And, at the very least, the age-old philosophical question of "If a tree falls in the woods, and no one is there to hear it, does it make a sound?" has finally been answered.  That answer is a resounding 'Yes,' or rather, "BEEP."

Why, the simple ticking and tacking of my keyboard as I write this has set an alarm off in the street below my window, as did apparently, mere minutes ago, the sound of drool slowly collecting on my pillow as I lay in peaceful slumber.  And, like proud parents discussing their newborn's latest bowel movement, you can't get one going without others joining in, so the entire block is now wailing and flashing like the world's biggest outdoor pinball machine.

But my alarm will appeal to the more casual car owner.  The car owner who doesn't sweat the small stuff.  The car owner who says, "Sure, I love my car, but I realize that, since it is made mostly of steel, an elderly man clearing his throat four blocks away is no reason for me, or indeed my car, to worry.  And it weighs over a ton, after all, so the grain of pollen that has collided violently with the rear bumper at a blistering three miles-per-hour probably won't cause it to flip end over end.  Oh, and since it's mid-afternoon on a sunny day and I'm parked on a busy street in the middle of town, no one is going to try to steal my car anyway."

Who knows?  Maybe the person who buys my car alarm will even be the type who doesn't feel the need to set the alarm when parking for short periods of time, say, to run to an ATM, or to get a cup of coffee, or to wait for the traffic light to change to green.

Hmm.  On second thought, inventions take a lot of work.  I think it might just be easier and more efficient to simply remove my eardrums with a pencil.

Provided I do it quietly.