Let me start by saying this: If I could physically say “What the fuck,” I would physically say “What the fuck.” Instead, only gave me the ability to honk, despite my exorbitant base price of . A car should be able to do much more than honk for that amount of money, but alas, I could only honk in protest of that notion. The engineers thought something was wrong with me.

And, you know, a couple of years into life, I’m starting to agree. The problem is either all of you or it’s me, and there are a lot more of you all than there is me.

In case you hadn’t heard about the reasoning behind my latest personal crisis, . Again. It’s an auction this time—Mecum Auctions, to be exact, where they’re advertising that I was “previously owned by professional wrestler and entertainer John Cena” and how I offer a “pure, honest driving experience.”How the hell would any of these people know? Have they driven me?

No. Nobody drives me.

This, if you’re counting, is about the millionth sale I’ve been through, which is far more than the roughly 600 miles I’ve been driven in my more than two years on this planet.The last I remember, I’d changed hands eight known times when I was and then mysteriously removed.

I showed up at the feet of my first owner, ol’ Johnny Cena, with wide eyes and a feeling as if we could conquer the world together in . He sold me less than a month later, against Ford’s stipulation that owners before reselling us Ford GTs. I don’t even think he so much as looked at me before unloading me on a dealership.

I wound up at another dealer, which sold to a private owner, who, thankfully, before selling me again due to back problems.He was the only one who actually drove me. I went back to the dealership, then to auction with 625 miles in August 2018, where I sold for , then to auction again the next month with 626 miles, then to auction once more in March with 635 miles, where I was removed for unspecified reasons. I’m now at auction one more time, still with the same 635 miles I had on me nine months ago.

I think you’ve all walked further than I’ve driven in that time—or in my entire life, since I’ve only gone 635 miles in the more than two years since delivered to ol’ Johnny, innocent and ready to see what the world had to offer.

Turns out, the world didn’t have much to offer at all. After all, I’m more known for my and than my at this point.

I’m so sick of these auctions, too, let me tell you. I get rolled across the stage like I’m goddamn Violet Beauregarde while some guy talks faster than I’ve ever been driven, because people sell me more often than they drive me. Come one, come all—buy the 2017 Ford GT you’re never going to touch! No need to see the inside of it, because it’s not like you’ll be in there much!

I, a car, thought cars were supposed to be driven. It seems I was wrong. For that mistake, I shall forever pay, and forever ask myself the same question: What the fuck?

[h/t ]