I woke up this morning having tweaked my back so hard over the weekend that I had to roll out of bed onto my hands and knees in order to get up. I tried for about five minutes to sit up in bed like a normal person but every time I did the pain was so severe that I involuntarily whimpered like a sad 10-week old puppy… You have absolutely no idea how depressing that method of extricating yourself from bed is as a 25 year old until you find yourself in the unfortunate situation where you have to do it for yourself. Wow. I spent a further lonesome five minutes in the shower contemplating how bad my back will be when I’m 55, considering how fucked it already is.

Suffice to say, my day was off to a blinding start. I made it significantly better later this morning by asking a number of colleagues from work if they had any strong painkillers. Most of them did. By about 11am I was riding a magnificent Codeine unicorn through an evergreen forest of my own discontent. Sore back, what back? I’m made of Aeroplane Jelly!

I never really understood those people that used to drive their cars around with ‘Car Bras’ on them. You know the ones? They were the black plastic/fabric covers people put over the front of their cars that cover the front bumper bar and, to a lesser extent, the side panels. Ostensibly, they’re meant to protect the car’s duco (“Not the fuckin’ duco!”) from stone-chips, presumably enhancing the car’s resale value down the track. To this day, I do not see the fucking point.

I thought, “Shit, there has to be something more to these things than protecting your car from an errant rock every now and again”, so I checked the ‘Car Bra’ website (in the interests of thorough investigative journalism, of course) and found the following description…

 “…protect your vehicle from stone damage, insect intrusion and small bird strikes”.

Well, I was mostly right…

I love how they call it ‘insect intrusion’. To me, it conjures up images of a grasshopper sneaking into your house in the dead of night dressed in a black turtleneck with a black beanie on, stuffing all of your silverware into a hessian sack and crawling down the drainpipe while The Pink Panther theme music plays in the background.

Also, small bird strikes? How often does this happen? Cars aren’t exactly Lockheed Electras, there’s no apparent risk of fatality from a sparrow getting decimated by your front grille. Why bother?

I mean, sure, it makes perfect sense to drape a gigantic piece of plastic over the front of your car, solidifying yourself as a dickhead in order to save the $250 it costs to get a touch-up before you sell it on.

I would honestly like to know how much a Car Bra costs to purchase to negate the cost of fixing the stone chip marks. Have they taken into consideration the shame premium?

/end communication