0% financing, no money down. For weapons

The automobile is mechanized violence. Seriously. Sure, they feel all soft and friendly from the inside, what with the artificially conditioned air and multi-channel, surround sound audio pumping the soothing sounds of NPR or, better yet, delivering the second season of CSI Miami from the DVD player (you're never safer than when Horatio Caine has your back.) And those heated leather seats... But think about what it's like on the other side of that thin, protective metal skin. The noise, not just of the engine but of rubber on pavement, various hums and whistles, the huge displacement of air as the thing whooshes by. Not to mention the smells and noxious fumes left in the wake. Violence. Think about what's actually going on in the guts of the thing - internal combustion. Four, six, eight, even ten explosions for each cycle of the crank shaft. Explosions, the detonating of petroleum distillates, right there in front of your feet. Does that sound safe? And you know what happens when they collide with one another, with immovable objects, with innocent onlookers and their pets. Like Kurt Vonnegut said, "thanks to Henry Ford (nasty anti-Semite that he was) anyone could afford to run over his neighbor's dog at 100 miles per hour." You may have heard that automobiles are not good for the environment, and if you have not heard that, I would recommend that you stop listening to talk radio and fox news (deliberately lower case, by the way.) Have you ever seen a deer, or other mammal, standing at the side of the road, watching the terrible spectacle with a mixture of terror and confusion? That is the only sane response to the unnatural violence being perpetrated against the poor creature's habitat. And that is precisely how I imagine I look as I ride my bicycle along the shoulder of mighty Route 4 on my way home from work, trying to drown out the roar with earphones stuffed in my ears, hoping to spare myself the knowledge of my likely doom. I wonder sometimes if, when he is being hit from behind, a cyclist knows that it's about to happen. If the awful clatter of an automobile actually running over you is somehow different from the awful clatter of one missing you by mere inches. Mostly though, I hope not to find out.