The American Spectator

John: Methinks the dealership has about as much of a clue about how to deal with this as my 6-month old lab puppy. He, at least, would know to chew on the leather, and his attitude is vastly less arrogant and hostile than the service manager. I wouldn’t try the jacks myself. Vibration of the car, at any appreciable wheel speed, could take it off the jacks and let fly across Loudoun County by itself. Which is one of the few things worse than letting the jokers from the dealership have it. No, methinks we’ll play Dukes of Hazzard for a coupla days between here and our normally-distant haunts. And then take it to a real expert we know in Falls Church.

I trust that by week’s end, we’ll be laughing about it, remembering the nonsense only as a redundant proof of the Gipper’s adage that government isn’t the solution, it’s the problem. Nevertheless, this is the most idiotic Catch-22 I’ve come across in many moons.