Wiper washer woes, what started as a simple fix to my wobbly excuse for wiper washers turned into a full-blown nightmare.
(A long story of me, karma, the [censored] who “modified” the wiper motor, blood vengeance, and revenge. Read at your own risk.)
It began innocently. I found what looked like a perfect, cheap solution for my wiper washer bushings on AliExpress.
Armed with optimism and a screwdriver, I went in. The plan: remove the motor, fit the new bushings, and call it a day. Easy, right?
Wrong.
The motor refused to budge. I got more lights, contorted my hands into a space so small a raccoon would have filed a complaint, and after an hour of creative swearing (in alphabetical order, sometimes repeating certain favorites), the motor finally came loose.
That’s when I discovered the handiwork of a true mechanical artist — a “genius” [censored] who had decided to:
So there I was, in the dark, balancing the engine’s weight, trying to pry open the world’s shortest connector without waking my wife (because that would’ve turned the night into an actual bloodbath).
Finally, after much pain and muttered poetry of curses, I freed the connector. I sat there, drenched, realizing karma was clearly using me as entertainment.
Still, I pressed on.
If life gives you an abomination, you make it rounder (and somehow uglier)
So I did.
Twenty minutes later, after some sanding, cutting, and an intimate session with lubricant, I proudly admired my creation — a slightly rounder, even uglier version of the original disaster. I then attempted to “mate” it with the bushing.
There was one tiny issue.
I hadn’t measured anything.
The bushing, meant for the original motor, was now being forced into something twice its size. It puffed up like a constipated pufferfish.
Naturally, I tried to fix that by drilling a hole for a screw — unevenly, of course. Discovered that part at 1 AM.
By 1:30, I had lost about two kilometers worth of water through sweat and despair. My body temperature was approaching small reactor levels. I surrendered, packed up, showered, and cried myself to sleep.
At 3 AM, I woke up screaming “BUSSSHHHHIIINGGG!” and scared my wife half to death....
I somehow managed to wake up and four coffees later, I accepted reality: this was no longer a mechanical problem. This was a spiritual battle.
Now, I’m down to three options:
(A long story of me, karma, the [censored] who “modified” the wiper motor, blood vengeance, and revenge. Read at your own risk.)
It began innocently. I found what looked like a perfect, cheap solution for my wiper washer bushings on AliExpress.
Armed with optimism and a screwdriver, I went in. The plan: remove the motor, fit the new bushings, and call it a day. Easy, right?
Wrong.
The motor refused to budge. I got more lights, contorted my hands into a space so small a raccoon would have filed a complaint, and after an hour of creative swearing (in alphabetical order, sometimes repeating certain favorites), the motor finally came loose.
That’s when I discovered the handiwork of a true mechanical artist — a “genius” [censored] who had decided to:
- Remove the original socket and weld an unholy, misshapen, round metal abomination sharp enough to draw blood.
- Add a screw, three washers, and an overall design guaranteed to make the next person working on it question all life choices.
- Mount it in a position physically unreachable by any known human anatomy.
So there I was, in the dark, balancing the engine’s weight, trying to pry open the world’s shortest connector without waking my wife (because that would’ve turned the night into an actual bloodbath).
Finally, after much pain and muttered poetry of curses, I freed the connector. I sat there, drenched, realizing karma was clearly using me as entertainment.
Still, I pressed on.
If life gives you an abomination, you make it rounder (and somehow uglier)
So I did.
Twenty minutes later, after some sanding, cutting, and an intimate session with lubricant, I proudly admired my creation — a slightly rounder, even uglier version of the original disaster. I then attempted to “mate” it with the bushing.
There was one tiny issue.
I hadn’t measured anything.
The bushing, meant for the original motor, was now being forced into something twice its size. It puffed up like a constipated pufferfish.
Naturally, I tried to fix that by drilling a hole for a screw — unevenly, of course. Discovered that part at 1 AM.
By 1:30, I had lost about two kilometers worth of water through sweat and despair. My body temperature was approaching small reactor levels. I surrendered, packed up, showered, and cried myself to sleep.
At 3 AM, I woke up screaming “BUSSSHHHHIIINGGG!” and scared my wife half to death....
I somehow managed to wake up and four coffees later, I accepted reality: this was no longer a mechanical problem. This was a spiritual battle.
Now, I’m down to three options:
- Find a donor motor (rare as unicorns).
- Fabricate something that fits.
- Return to the nightmare and pray I survive the sequel.
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