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car of the night: the corvette
by Michele Christopher
The Corvette. Sheesh. Well, we knew this time was coming. We ask you guys for your input about what cars to review and usually we agree about the coolness of the car. Sometimes it works. Sometimes it doesn't. Doesn't matter. We always have fun. But today was different. This is how this site works guys and girls. This is little background of how we do this. We both take a subject and think about it. We don't really talk to each other about it til we start writing. We just think, then act. Whatever comes out we kick out to each other first, then to you. Our feelings and memories. Sometimes we agree, sometimes we don't. But it is an interesting process. Today's feature somehow got left in the dust. By that, I mean we both had bad images of it in our heads. Hey, it happens. What can you do? So today's car is one that we both didn't like, and we realize that you submit ideas for cars and we thank you for that, but you have to realize....sometimes they are gonna get bagged. So for today's car...the Corvette. Hold your head low today cause this one might get bad.
We keep getting asked “When are you gonna do the ‘Vette?” “How can you do all these great cars and not get to the Corvette yet?” Well honestly, guys, I’ve been putting it off because truth be told, I just don’t feel about this car the way most of you do. The majority of car freaks look at this thing and think speed, sex, coolness. Me, I look at and think....old man’s car.
Yea, dude. Old man’s car. See, I’ve never know anyone with a Corvette who wasn’t in the middle of some wild mid-life crisis that involved silk shirts, 18 year old call girls and a Corvette.
Oh, there was a time when I thought it was a really cool car. But that was a long time ago, mid 70's I guess. And then one day my father said that an old friend of his was coming over to visit and he had a ‘vette. A ‘69 Stingray to be exact. Oh yea. This was gonna be cool. He might even take us for a ride, dad said. So I spent all day imaging what kind of “old friend” was gonna show up with this car. Maybe someone from my dad’s old days hanging at the biker bar, a guy with a leather jacket and slicked back hair who said “fuck” a lot. Hey, when you’re 13 years old, it’s hard to conjure up an image of a cool guy your dad’s age. I was trying my hardest.
So late in the afternoon, the guy rolls up in this pure white Stingray. Now, I had never seen one of these up close, but in my confined little world, Stingrays were known to be cool. Right? Then why did I feel almost disappointed when I got my first glance at this car? It seemed so....feminine. Like someone offering you a cigarette and you expect a Lucky Strikes No Filter but you get a Virginia Slims 100 Menthol instead.
As if that disappointment wasn’t enough, dad’s friend stepped out of the car. It was like someone stuck a pin in a balloon. All I could hear was this hissing sound as the air was sucked out of my dream of tooling around the neighborhood in a cool car with some aging, yet cool, greaser.
The guy was about 6'9". It was like he unfolded himself when he stepped out of the car. He had a mess of dirty blonde curls for hair, and I knew without even getting close to him that those curls came from a perm. Yea, this guy sat in a beauty salon with fucking curlers in his hair. He was wearing a tan button down shirt, first three buttons undone, chest hair springing out between the gold chains hanging down around his neck. He had on brown, flared pants with a belt so tight that his huge beer gut hung down over his pants like a water balloon about to burst. Jesusfuckingchristonapogostick. I felt sick.
And that was just the beginning. I started to notice it after that. I looked for Corvettes on the road. I scoped them out in parking lots. And every single one of them belonged to some gut-heavy man in a seersucker suit and a toupee. The kind of guy who would leer and wink at a 14 year old girl. The kind of guy who thought that buying a sports car was like buying a time machine and all he had to do was start the engine and he was 18 all over again. Fuck, dude. I’m betting that beer belly and that bald spot weren’t there when you graduated high school.
So I started to associate Corvettes with old, lecherous men who probably masturbated to passing school buses. Dude, look at that picture. Look at who is admiring the car. Notice the beer gut? And one guy is wearing fanny pack? See what I mean?
And really. That is one feminine looking car. Totally a Virginia Slim. I like my cars non-filtered, thanks. -M
This will not end well.....
Pick any year, any make, any size. It doesn't really matter to me. It's always gonna bring up the same memories for me. Something out of CHiPs where Erik Estrada is taking off his shirt to pull the cool "crazy kids" over or some bad pre-teen nightmare about a car that looks like a bad acid trip. Or Erik Estrada and Farrah Fawcett fucking on a beach. Her legs spread in the air. Him waving to the little boys saying "Don't go anywhere 'cause you are next."
This is already sounding like I was molested as a kid.....
I'm not gay, ok? But I do have alot of broken knuckles.
But thats a story for another time.
We stole this car one time from my friend's dad. Jacked the keys and got that fucker in gear. The smelI of the fumes made us sick as we tried to open the garage door.
I told you this story was going down fast. Geez, that even sounds gay.....I just can't seem to win today...
I think I was about 12. He didn't know how to drive a stick and we spent the whole night drinking and grinding gears. God, that sounds gay. I need to stop watching so much soccer before I write. Too much damn hugging in soccer. I'm telling you, this site is turning weirder everyday. Reel it in turtle...reel it in....pull it back...pull it back...
Hey dude. The car might have had power but it just looks so...hmm...like Mr. Rogers with a hangover asking about The Land of Make Believe while shooting back a Corona. Asking why the Land is in fucking Mexico and why he had no fucking pants on. Why King Friday kept asking him if he was gonna finish that beer and why the god damn owl wouldn't stop flying around his head. I mean the fucking owl never leaves that god damn tree, so why the fuck would he pick today to do it?
"Fuck. I have no pants. Doesn't that god damn owl know today is "Mr. Rogers Gets High In Mexico" day? Jesus. I read the fucking schedule...Can't that god damn owl show me some respect and do the same god damn thing? What the fuck is wrong with him? And fuck you King Friday or Tuesday or whatever the fuck your name is today. That's my beer. Wait. I have an idea. Hold on. Hold on. You need a new name. Why don't we just call you.... "King Shutthefuckupday" and drink a few more shots while you find where the donkey act is tonight. OK? Cause this bottle can still break your little plastic head and spill your little plastic brains all over the god damn table, King Fuck. Wait. OK. That's funny.That's your new name. KING FUCK! All hail King Fuck! Finder of the Holy Donkey Act! And grab me another god damn beer while you finding it, King Fuck. And get this god damn owl outta my fucking hair!"
Just confusion. And cool red sweaters. And owls on LSD.
Like a Ford GEO. Something that would only take a few people and leave the rest behind wondering what that was.
GEO...do it like a GEO...suddenly I want to hear The Geto Boys.
And if you don't already, please support you local Public Broadcasting channel. Because without viewers like you, the hosts can't get high. -T