Hello Wizbang people. Kevin has brought me in to help entertain you on a Friday evening, and I figured -who doesn’t like fast cars and fast music?
So it’s spring and a woman’s thoughts turn to….driving. Not just driving, but driving with the windows down and the sunroof open and the music blasting so loud you don’t hear the siren behind you as the police officer desperately tries to get you to pull over. And when you finally see those lights in your rear view and you pull off to the shoulder and the nice cop asks you why in god’s name you were going so fast you say something like “But officer, rock and roll made me do it!” and he gives a knowing nod and a soft warning that you really shouldn’t do that again.
No, it doesn’t happen that way. But it should. In an ideal world, all speed limits would be off on any day where it’s sunny and above 72 degrees. And in an ideal world, I would be doing my fast music driving in one of these:
That’s a 1970 Chevelle SS. Mine would be in black, but you get the idea. That right there, ladies and gentlemen, is the ultimate in automobiles. It’s the car I’ve been dreaming about since I first got my license back in the dark ages, and the car I will some day own. Mark my words. That’s not just any muscle car, kids. That is a piece of art. You know how some guys feel when they see a picture of some big breasted chick with her legs in the air and a “take me” look on her face? You know how some women feel when they see a pair of Manolo Blahnik shoes on sale at Neiman Marcus? That’s how I feel when I see this car. No, I don’t want to fuck it, but I just might rub up against it in a sexual fashion, given the chance. Oh hell, if it had a dick, I’d fuck it.
Fortunately, my love of old muscle cars is shared by my new partner in life crimes and he swears that some day we will be cruising down I-5 in California in this thing:
That would be a 1972 Barracuda. The kind of car where the guy driving wears a wife beater and has one tattooed arm out the window and his hair is slicked back and maybe there’s plastic Jesus glued to the dashboard and the girl next to him has her seat back and her legs up on the dashboard and her hair is long and flying in the wind and there’s music on the radio, something pure rock and roll, and they laugh as they hit the the Grapevine on I-5 because steep as that grade is, it’s no match for your mean driving machine.
That’s no dream (though it does sound like a Coop drawing waiting to happen). That’s gonna happen. When we do hit that scene some day, we’ll be doing it, of course, with the proper soundtrack.
Visit me at Faster Than the World, a site about punk rock and fast cars.