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The Quest of the Holy Grille By ROBERT F. YOUNG Next time you get into your autom— er, we mean, manmobile, make sure you know who's driving: you, or it. Here's a comic, satiric, outrageously original story that may advance pedestrianism by years. H OUSING had never been one to go chasing after girlhicles. Girlhicles were forever having visions and were forever telling you about them, and anyway, there were more important things in life than getting your oil changed. He much preferred the peace and quiet of his garage to the roar and bustle of the highways, and he had always been content to spend most of his evenings at home, meditating upon the nature of manmobilekind. Of late, however, a strange restlessness had come over him. Part of it, he knew, could be attributed to the season of the year, but the other part could not be. It was this second part that troubled Housing the most, because it drove him to ask himself certain questions that he couldn't even begin to answer. These questions were three in number, and were as follows : (1) If the purpose of manmobilekind wasn't for boyhicles to chase girlhicles, what was the purpose of manmobilekind? (2) If Godmobile liked regular menmobiles as much as everybody said He did, why had He created truckmenmobiles? And (3) Did human beings, as vehicular beings maintained, rationalize everything they did, in order to convince themselves that they had free will; or did vehicular beings rationalize everything they did, in order to convince themselves that they had free will? On a Friday evening late in April Housing went next door to visit his friendhicle Axle, hoping through the catharsis of conversation to rid himself of his growing doubts. Axle was getting ready to go out, and his youngest servo-pilot—an attractive young female (by people standards)—had just finished giving him a wash job and was rubbing him down with a chamois cloth. "Hi, Housing," he said to our herohicle. "What're you doing away from the garage this late at night?" Axle wasn't in the least bit like Housing. He was downright rakish in appearance, and had H.P. written all over him. Housing, on the other wheel, was the quiet type, conservative of line and unostentatious
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