scratch the crack and smell the fumes, dude
by Michele Christopher

So I get an email from a long lost friend today: "When are you going to talk about Mustangs??"

I once had a Mustang. Unforunately, it was of the 77 variety, produced during a time when perhaps Ford thought Mustang was synomous with "looks like Dad's car!" I did love that thing, and driving a stick was one of the greatest autombile pleasure of my life, but it wasn't, you know, a Mustang.

Let's talk real Mustangs.


There ya go. This here is a 1970 Ford Mustang of the Mach I variety. Unlike the previous cars I've talked about - where I envisioned myself driving them - this one is pure testosterone. It's a guy's car. If cars were dicks, the Mach I one would belong to John Holmes. It's the kind of car I might not drive, but would keep in my driveway and spend every Saturday afternoon lovingly soaping it up and hosing it down while entertaining the neighborhood with Mach I worthy tunes.

Clawfinger - Biggest and the Best
Unsane - Alleged
Monster Magnet - Powertrip
Turbonegro - Ride With Us

In the denim buggies across the dunes,
Scratch the crack and smell the fumes dude, ride with us
If you wanna kill for inner peace, just do it, do it
If you wanna slay the bourgeois beast, ride with us
On and on, on and on and on and on
we're on a mission to destroy
we're on a mission to destroy


I've taken rides from strangers [hot ones I was pretty sure I could take in a fight, but still] just to ride in their cherry red '67 coupes. Sigh.
It was pretty much like what Michele said about the '69 Charger: I should have tossed the one slobbering wreck and made out with his car instead.


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