When the powers that be decided to discontinue me after 80 years, I was a bit…raw about it. I mean, I’m an icon, man! A legend! I am the mechanical embodiment of the Love Generation. I was a movie star—Lindsey Lohan drove me around before her craziness discontinued her (we have that in common.) Heck, people wrote studies about me! (Thank you, James D. Armstrong!) I was the face of Volkswagen. I made people smile. Sure, back in the day I had to get a running start to get up a hill, and when every other car was measuring displacement in cubic inches, I was all about cubic centimeters—but it’s not about size, man, it’s about how you use it.
And I used it, man. I worked it.
Hippies loved me. Like, a lot. Maybe a little too much. (Hippies…well, hippies smell bad. Like patchouli and uncooked chicken. Peace and love is great and all, but when the concepts are presented alongside a pair of ripe malodorous armpits, people tend to forget your main message. Stinkyness was probably the downfall of the whole hippy culture, to be honest. Oh God, I’m soliloquizing. Maybe that’s why I was discontinued, because I’m verbose? Naw, man.)
I am the Volkswagen Beetle. Nice to meet you, perhaps you’ve heard of me? Haha! That was a joke. Of course you have. But I’m not here to talk about myself (although I am good at it and enjoy it. No one ever accused me of being humble. I mean, just look at me! I’m a GOD, dude)! I’m here to eulogize another lost hero. A hero that changed a generation, with a face that launched a billion memes. He was a guest star on the hottest talk shows. Books were written about him. He was a cultural icon. So who better to eulogize a cultural icon than a cultural icon? (My popularity spanned generations, though. No big deal.)
And so, I am here to say thank you and goodbye, Grumpy Cat, who died on May 14th. We totally miss you already. You were like the feline Walter Matthau, but no one put Walter Matthau on a tshirt or coffee mug. Grumpy Cat, whose real name was Tardar Sauce (omg, that’s just perfect! Haha! Tardar Sauce, indeed!) left behind a body of work that shames all the other kitties, grumpy or happy or in between. Her constant work, dedication, and ambition sapped her strength and led to an early death—she was only seven after all. But I know for a fact she wouldn’t have changed a thing. She was that kind of kitty.
And so, let us all pour one out for our homie, Grumpy Cat. And pour one out for me too, yo. Me! The Volkswagen Beetle! Don’t forget about me! I mean, you won’t. You can’t. You couldn’t possibly. I was the 70’s. I was on posters, man. Please don’t forget me!