The Manly Humanities Man's Guide to Oil Changes

(or For Whom the Oil Light Flickers)

New writer alert!

Zach Hively

once learned that authors should say their own names as often as possible to make them stick with readers. This is why he titled his book of short humorous essays Call Me Zach Hively Because That Is His Name, and why he publishes new work weekly at

Zach Hively and Other Mishaps

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The oil warning light came on in my girlfriend’s car the other day, and she wanted me—me!—to Do Something About It.

I cannot be the only English major this has happened to.

I may have a degree in literature, but I am not otherwise an idiot. Sensing the Call to Adventure at this point in our romance—and knowing that if I was very lucky I would get to use some of that gritty orange hand soap that smells so nice—I agreed to take a look.

But my hero’s journey could not go unchronicled! Not if it could help thousands of other Manly Humanities Men—or maybe even dozens of them—also get to use the gritty orange hand soap that smells so nice.

Here, in MLA style, is how I Did Something About the Oil Warning Light:

1. I read the manual. The ENTIRE manual, because I have this affliction where I cannot see words without reading them. It’s bad. It’s how I, alone among my classmates, finished Paradise Lost.

   1. BONUS TIP: Read the manual while seated in the car itself. It provides nearly the same thrill as reading the Narnia books while visiting England.

2. I determined, using my advanced training in critical reading, that the oil warning light was indicating a warning in the oil system. Probably a lack of oil pressure. This can be caused by a misalignment in one of the variables in the equation PV=nRT, which I cite here to prove that Manly Humanities Men pay attention in General Studies, as well.

3. After some setbacks in applying theoretical knowledge in a practical setting, I located the car’s engine.

4. I translated my newfound knowledge across disciplines. In humanities-speak: “Check the oil, you dipstick.”

5. I inspected the long, flimsy metal testing rod (whose name I can’t think of). It required graduate-level interpretation. Oil is a viscous substance that clings to long, flimsy metal testing rods, which I learned leaves room for culturally-filtered nuance even upon multiple readings.

6. I concluded that the car did, in fact, need oil.

7. I hoofed it to a gas station convenience store to buy some oil. I chose the gas station over the auto parts store because I felt that I, and the ascot I was wearing, would face less unfriendly criticism there.

   1. BONUS TIP: Turn down the offer to buy a funnel. Lie and say that you already have one. A Manly Humanities Man can take only so much suspicion of his bonne foi before breaking.

8. I made certain my girlfriend was watching from the window when I opened the hood in the driveway. I knew that this time, I could probably do so on the first try.

9. I poured the oil into the place I am fairly confident oil goes. I admit that I glugged a few glugs in other places. But I assume doing so is just fine. I mean, have you SEEN one of these engines before? Oil is EVERYWHERE.

10. My girlfriend drove directly to the dealership’s service center and spent $1400. I’m happy to say that nothing exploded on her way there, leastwise not that she’s mentioned.

And THAT is how I earned the privilege of using the gritty orange soap.

(But I made sure to leave just a bit of dark grease under my fingernails. This will show my fellow elbow-patchers what a real Manly Humanities Man can do.)

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Editor’s Note: Cool Thing / Not Cool Thing

COOL THING: Via internet magic, the highly NSFW “children’s book” I wrote about Neil Gorsuch made its way to the authors of Pride Puppy, the actual children’s book that he made asinine comments about.

The messages I got from Julie McLaughlin, Pride Puppy’s illustrator, were a perfect illustration of exactly why comedy (and free expression in general) is important.

Message from Julie McLaughlin (abridged and reprinted with her permission)

It’s very easy for me to get caught up in the grind of trying to make this newsletter good/funny/profitable, so Julie’s message was a much-needed reminder of why it’s worth making comedy in the first place.

NOT COOL THING: I generally like to project confidence here, but for a moment I’ll be vulnerable and say that Chortle has lost two paid subscribers over the last month without adding any new ones. This is the first time we’ve been at a net negative over any extended period and, to be blunt, it friggin’ sucks.

Suffice it to say, today is a great day to upgrade your subscription. If you believe that comedy is an important part of enduring the complete assholes who are trying to run us all into the ground, please become a paid subscriber.

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