The Mechanics of Fucking With Me

I spent $540 on a new gas pump for my car on Friday. I have no idea what a gas pump does or why I need it.
My mechanic could sell me anything and I’d have to buy it as long as I need transportation.

“Yea, the scuttlebucket’s busted.”
“The scuttlebucket?”
“Yea, you can’t drive without that thing. That’s what buckets your scuttle.”
“How much does it cost to fix?”
“Well I’m gonna have to brutally rape you in front of your friends and peers.”
“Hmm… I don’t really have that kind of time or energy.”
“Well you can’t drive the car without the scuttlebucket.”
“Alright, I guess I’ll come by Tuesday as long as you can promise me a warranty that I won’t need to get raped for another five months.”
“Four months.”
“This never used to happen when I had a Honda.”

I don't know if I could pull that off. Even if I was told to make up things at my job for people to buy I wouldn't have the confidence to back it up.

“Hi, and welcome to K-mart. I’m sorry sir, but you can’t enter unless you have a K-mart titanium body suit.”
“Get bent Jew face!”
“Good point. Enjoy your shopping time.”