pennsylvaniapothole
pennsylvaniapothole
pennsylvaniapothole

Make no mistake, anyone with McCluggage’s resume is undeniably epic, and I have nothing but the greatest respect for her accomplishments. My comment, of course, was rife with tongueincheekiosity, no disrespect intended.

Yeah, but did she ever hoon a janky-ass Porsche 944 with a Puffalump riding shotgun? #stefschraderbadass

Damn, this would have been a perfect vehicle (no pun intended) for Steve McQueen..... 

21-backfire salute to you, $kay. Seeing what direction you were gonna head with a COTD was always a good time.

INLINE SIXES CAN’T HUG YOU, DAVID! INLINE SIXES DON’T HAVE FEELINGS!

David.... people care about you. Some people may even love you. Maybe not people HERE, but, I mean, you know. Somewhere. Anyway, we’re concerned. When you go down this road... this rust-bucket road that leads to flecks of rust in your eyes and bloodied knuckles with bits of American Motors paints embedded in them.... w

About six teeth. Give or take.

If he had REALLY been trying to connect with his fans it would’ve been crystal meth and twelve cans of MONSTERRRRR ENERGY DRIIIIIINK.

First and foremost, welcome to Pennsylvania, where the only thing bigger than the potholes is the gut of the PennDOT worker leaning on a shovel a few yards away, THINKING about filling it in but never actually DOING it. As for songs, how about The Replacements with “Left Of The Dial”, Butch Walker’s “Ludlow

This.... this is peak RCR. The happiness this video brings me cannot be calculated. Mr. Regular brings great pride to the Commonwealth of Pennsylvania. We shall construct a shrine to him at the Hickory Run Service Plaza on the Northeast Extension. Also, he will wed Stef Schrader in a moonlight ceremony on the start/fin

IndyCar’s blocking rules are some of the most... I don’t know, let’s say..... assinine.... rules out there. That is, if you can call them rules. It would be one thing if it was enforced in the same way all the time, but it seems like there’s a different interpretation of rule 9.3.2 every year, if not seemingly every

Amen to this 1,000 times.

Early-2000s Ford Explorer Sport Trac. It’s terrible as a pickup... it’s even worse as an SUV.... it’s just big enough to not be considered a car.... the plastic parts are terrible on the interior, as usual, and the rear bed tonneau-thingy is an absolute nightmare when you need to take it on and off, plus I’m pretty

Good Guy David Tracy, saving the world one 4x4 beater at a time.

It WAS brand new.....

I’m fairly confident another Pinto is the real cause for all that smoke there.

Now playing

Hey, if we’re gonna talk about badass Caprices, which I don’t feel is a conversation had often enough, can I get a little love for “72nd and Broadway to Central Park South In Three Minutes” Caprice?

‘78 Triumph Spitfire 1500, but I guess it’s kind of hard to fit in one of these when you’re pregnant, so.....

Godspeed, gentlemen. And to paraphrase our fourth president, the honorable James Madison, who said the best medicine in the world is: a long journey, at a mild season, through a pleasant country, in easy stages, in a sketchy-ass American Motors product that has the potential to break in half at any point.