The squalorly bitch right here.
So at 3 AM, the horn on my old Jeep started going off in five minute spurts, every ten to fifteen minutes. In my very quiet suburban neighborhood. It took me a minute to figure out it was my car that was doing it, too. (Mea culpa, neighbors.) So to the internet I go, with the search term "JEEP HORN LIKE TELL-TALE HEART." That got me nowhere, as search engines don't have a sense of humor or an understanding of metaphors. With better terms, I figured out how to locate the (correct) fuse box, identify the fuse that runs the horn, and pull it out. Of course, the horn went off while I was under the hood, so I think I might be temporarily deaf. And then I dropped the hood on my head (the kickstand is busted.) And then I fell on my ass in a big snow drift. In spite of the bruise on my head, the bruise on my ass, the ringing in my ears, and what I think might be frost bite on my thumbs (it's -5, -20 wind chill) THE FUCKING CAR IS QUIET NOW.
"Fixed" isn't really the right word for what I did, but I'm still counting it.