Lie Down on Lady Facom

I took our car to the garage yesterday so they could find the oil leak (which turned out to be a diesel leak) and when I went back an hour later to pick it up, I found myself standing next to this stunning chick, leaning up against a giant gas bottle:

Lady Facom

What the hell is this contraption? I thought, and what is this woman doing painted on it, brandishing a spanner? If you look closely you’ll see it’s one of those soft padded things that slide under a car, upon which you can lie and prevent your back from getting sore/dirty. Mechanics spend a lot of time lying on their backs underneath cars (when the car lifting machine is overbooked, which it often is apparently) so they use this mini-mattress-on-wheels to ease their backs. But why oh why adorn it with a hot babe in red knickers, hold-up stockings and a cut-off top? Will lying on her somehow make the mechanic feel happier about changing the oil on my car? Will she help him remember his spanner, thus saving him a potential extra bump on the head as he slides back out to get it? Surely her presence can only hinder the mechanic’s work. What if he is so excited by her that he lies face-down on her, and then can’t find where the car is? What if he has an erotic accident and is then too embarrassed to stand up and has to lie under the motor until the garage shuts? What if the mechanic is a she? And what if she isn’t particularly turned on by other women? And who the hell at Facom headquarters had the idea of putting a life-sized sexy-looking woman on a piece of garage apparatus anyway?

All these questions went racing through my admittedly understimulated mind. I took a photo of her to ponder over the matter further and to share her beauty with you. Yes, she is slightly cross-eyed, but wouldn’t you be, lying under cars all day? One of the mechanics in the garage looked a little uncomfortable when I took the photo. I asked if my car was ready. He said yes, but it was still up on the car-lifting-thingy. “That’s fine, I’ll drive it off”, I replied. “Erm, usually we drive the cars off” he said nervously. But it was too late, Lady Facom’s existence had pissed me off and I was determined to show him that a woman could handle the manoeuvre. I climbed up into my car, started it up and backed it down off the ramp. He looked relieved. I thanked him and drove off. I am planning on breaking into the garage one night and glueing scratchy iron bristle-brushes onto Lady Facom’s fanny and underarms.


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