| The Ford is my auto; I shall not walk. It maketh me lie down beneath it. It leaveth me stranded in deep waters. It vexeth my soul. It leadeth me in the path of ridicule for it's names sake. Yea though I ride through the valleys, I am towed up the hills. I fear all evil for my sparkplug corrodeth. My rods and my bolts discomfort me. It preparest a puncture in the presence of trouble. It anointest my hands with grease. My radiator boileth over. Surely curses and punctures shall follow me all the days of my life, and I shall plead before the Ford in vain forever.
This was written in 1919 by an anonymous person. .
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