I'm hoping it's bad gas. That may seem a strange thing to hope for ("gee, I sure hope I have a tankful of bad fuel in my car right now!"), but it beats the alternatives that present themselves to the mind of this humble scribe.
See, this car, whose legendary reliability I've remarked upon before, was low on gas this afternoon. So I pulled into a gas station, whereupon I proceeded to put 9.3 gallons of gas into a 10-gallon tank. At the completion of this relatively trivial exercise, the car refused to start.
Oh, it turned over just fine. And made enthusiastic "I'm going to start now" noises, but starting conspicuously failed to happen. So, in the spirit of post hoc, ergo propter hoc reasoning, I am thinking, or perhaps hoping, that the gas I put in the car was more like water, or breast milk from a bevy of Italian supermodels, or something.
And now the tow truck is here and I must be off.