My dream car...sigh...

I prefer to have cars remain objects of emotion rather than turning car buying and car ownership into a job. I don’t see the fun in it at all, but to each their own. I’ll keep throwing my money into this blazing fire and make sure my pen stays away from any ledgers, thank you.

Please take my belly-laugh as a sign of admiration and appreciation of a kindred spirit’s efforts.

Real fans sit all weekend at a soundboard and constantly correct the peaks.

During college I had a 1986 Chevrolet Celebrity, with a 5-cylinder 2.8 V6. Droopy headliner, base everything except for custom rust and a Craig 8-track player I found at Goodwill.

The reality is that the crumple zone is you, as your corpse bounces around inside the car.

Also worth a listen is the always wonderful Radio Le Mans. Surprised it wasn’t mentioned in the article.

Can no one see the sharpie I’m using on my screen?

Chicago’s swingin’ Pump Room! As featured in many a song and Hitchcock film! Here’s a lady dining there at about the same time as the photo above.

Thanks for not calling them BEYOND GORGEOUS and actually being ok with the word as it is.

I was a kid who liked (visually) loud cars. It wasn’t a muscle car, a Countach, or a concept in Motor Trend, I couldn’t even see it. Nowadays I like pretty much every car, if not for their greatness then for their flaws.

Don’t steal my material!

It’s not ever even cool stuff, like Agip logos or Beta tools.

It looks like Sauron with well-defined shingles scabs.

It’s harder than being ignorant but you wouldn’t know.

Yes, but it’s OK because that’s just my routine.

I think there’s a point where one might have said of Clarkson, “Oh, what an old coot.” But the truth is his hatred of specific people and peoples is massive and disgusting. To defend him at this point is just giving permission. It’s not ok. He’s an awful creature trying to disguise itself as a clever British…

If hate is a shtick, then fuck you.

Clarkson is enjoyable when he stays in the narrow confines of a scripted television programme. Outside of that element, he is a monumentally ignorant bastard basking in a blinding glow of self-importance. I’m afraid the only cure is more cigarettes.

It’s weird how I’ve betrayed the tastes I had as a youth. So many cars I loathed are now held in high esteem, some so much that I’ve even owned them.