Terry Yager
Veteran Member
This poem (song parody, actually) really does belong it the 'Humor' section. There's a (mostly true) story behind this one too:
HotRod
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Have ya heard the story of the hot rod race,
Where the Comets & Falcons were settin the pace?
I'm here to tell ya that story's true,
Cause I was drivin that Sixty-two!
It's got a Falcon motor that barely gets up,
And those Buick taillights make ya say whassup?
Got six cylinders, and uses most,
If they ever all fire, I'll be gone like a ghost!
Got a single-barrel, and a leaky exhaust,
In the carbon monoxide you can really get lost.
The tires are bald, but the brakes are there,
Ya just stomp on the pedal and say a prayer.
Chugged out of Skidway late one night,
And the moon and the stars were shinin bright.
Went rolling down Tickle-belly Hill,
Passin trees like they were standin still.
When all of a sudden, in the wink of an eye,
A Volkswagon bug came and passed us by.
The fellahs all said I could kick his ass,
If I'd put my foot down and give it some gas.
I dropped her down into granny low,
And hit the up-side, pullin slow.
I wound it out to about fourty-five,
My motor was humming like bees in a hive.
A cloud of blue smoke came up under my rug,
When I started to gain on that lil bug.
I yanked on the hand-choke for all it was worth,
And she started to scream like she was givin birth!
The boys all thought I'd lost my mind,
That Vee-dub was hoggin the center line.
I faked to the left, then passed on the right,
Just about that time, I saw the blue light!
Billy Turner hauled me to the Ogemaw jail,
Where I called my brother to save my tail.
And Chuck told me it would make him vomit,
If I didn't just junk that P-O-S Comet!
--T
__________________
Jam the computer...trash every lethal machine in the land! --Timothy Leary
Yet another long (but mostly true) story...
Back when my kidz were little, I used to drive this '62 Mercury Comet that I had restored. When I first found it, it was sittin' out in the back-fourty somewhere, and had been used for 29 yearz of target practice, so there was not a single drop of glass left intact. The seats had been stripped of all the padding, down to bare, rusty springs, to make nests for the chickenz & various rodents who'd decided to make it thier homes. Knowing what was important to look for on that type of car, I crawled under the ass-end, and determined that the unibody was not rusted-out, so the car still had potential. I gave the ol' farmer a hundred bucks for 'er, simply because I knew that my friend Spanke had a '61 Ford Falcon, in running condition, that I could get for another hundred (or less, depending how thirsty he was at the moment). Long story short, I took the best parts of the two, (glass, seats, etc) and built-up the Comet (including the engine from the Falcon (they both came with 140 c.i.d L-6 engines, so it was a straight swap, no fancy conversions)). The only hold-up from putting it on the road was finding the taillight lenses, which there only seemed to be one of in the whole country, a NOS unit at a Ford dealership in Arizona, with a price tag of $25.00 + shipping. Even if I got that one, I'd still need three more. I started out looking around for alternatives, and in an old boneyard about 30 miles away (with lots of vintage parts), I happened upon a '63 Buick Electra that had some real pretty-looking taillights. They looked like they would fit the back of the Comet, and just be large enough to cover the holes where the old lights used to be. After taking the measurements, I bought the Buick lights (twenty buck$ for the pair), and mounted them to the Comet. Perfect! It looked so natural that it coulda come from the factory like that. I also stripped off all the chrome trim (including the two 'bullzeyez' on the front fenderz, which had been shot-up, and were also impossible to find), and molded in the excess holez, and gave 'er a burgandy laquer paint-job. I never got around to eliminating the exterior door handles, although I did purchase all the parts necessary for the conversion.
Anyways, (I told ya it's a long story, didn't I?), in Ogemaw County in northern Michigan, about a mile outside the village of Skidway, (on Greenwood Rd.), there's this huge, long, steep dip in the road, we always called 'Tickle-belly Hill', cauze if ya hit it at just the right speed, it'll make ya cream yer jeanz. The sherrif in Ogemaw county at the time was William 'Don'tCallMeBilly' Turner, who most of us had known since he was sh!tting yellow, so we alwayz called him Billy-boy, just ta p!ss him off.
I guess the rest of the song is self-explanitory, except for the fact that my big brother's name really was Chuck.
--T
HotRod
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Have ya heard the story of the hot rod race,
Where the Comets & Falcons were settin the pace?
I'm here to tell ya that story's true,
Cause I was drivin that Sixty-two!
It's got a Falcon motor that barely gets up,
And those Buick taillights make ya say whassup?
Got six cylinders, and uses most,
If they ever all fire, I'll be gone like a ghost!
Got a single-barrel, and a leaky exhaust,
In the carbon monoxide you can really get lost.
The tires are bald, but the brakes are there,
Ya just stomp on the pedal and say a prayer.
Chugged out of Skidway late one night,
And the moon and the stars were shinin bright.
Went rolling down Tickle-belly Hill,
Passin trees like they were standin still.
When all of a sudden, in the wink of an eye,
A Volkswagon bug came and passed us by.
The fellahs all said I could kick his ass,
If I'd put my foot down and give it some gas.
I dropped her down into granny low,
And hit the up-side, pullin slow.
I wound it out to about fourty-five,
My motor was humming like bees in a hive.
A cloud of blue smoke came up under my rug,
When I started to gain on that lil bug.
I yanked on the hand-choke for all it was worth,
And she started to scream like she was givin birth!
The boys all thought I'd lost my mind,
That Vee-dub was hoggin the center line.
I faked to the left, then passed on the right,
Just about that time, I saw the blue light!
Billy Turner hauled me to the Ogemaw jail,
Where I called my brother to save my tail.
And Chuck told me it would make him vomit,
If I didn't just junk that P-O-S Comet!
--T
__________________
Jam the computer...trash every lethal machine in the land! --Timothy Leary
Yet another long (but mostly true) story...
Back when my kidz were little, I used to drive this '62 Mercury Comet that I had restored. When I first found it, it was sittin' out in the back-fourty somewhere, and had been used for 29 yearz of target practice, so there was not a single drop of glass left intact. The seats had been stripped of all the padding, down to bare, rusty springs, to make nests for the chickenz & various rodents who'd decided to make it thier homes. Knowing what was important to look for on that type of car, I crawled under the ass-end, and determined that the unibody was not rusted-out, so the car still had potential. I gave the ol' farmer a hundred bucks for 'er, simply because I knew that my friend Spanke had a '61 Ford Falcon, in running condition, that I could get for another hundred (or less, depending how thirsty he was at the moment). Long story short, I took the best parts of the two, (glass, seats, etc) and built-up the Comet (including the engine from the Falcon (they both came with 140 c.i.d L-6 engines, so it was a straight swap, no fancy conversions)). The only hold-up from putting it on the road was finding the taillight lenses, which there only seemed to be one of in the whole country, a NOS unit at a Ford dealership in Arizona, with a price tag of $25.00 + shipping. Even if I got that one, I'd still need three more. I started out looking around for alternatives, and in an old boneyard about 30 miles away (with lots of vintage parts), I happened upon a '63 Buick Electra that had some real pretty-looking taillights. They looked like they would fit the back of the Comet, and just be large enough to cover the holes where the old lights used to be. After taking the measurements, I bought the Buick lights (twenty buck$ for the pair), and mounted them to the Comet. Perfect! It looked so natural that it coulda come from the factory like that. I also stripped off all the chrome trim (including the two 'bullzeyez' on the front fenderz, which had been shot-up, and were also impossible to find), and molded in the excess holez, and gave 'er a burgandy laquer paint-job. I never got around to eliminating the exterior door handles, although I did purchase all the parts necessary for the conversion.
Anyways, (I told ya it's a long story, didn't I?), in Ogemaw County in northern Michigan, about a mile outside the village of Skidway, (on Greenwood Rd.), there's this huge, long, steep dip in the road, we always called 'Tickle-belly Hill', cauze if ya hit it at just the right speed, it'll make ya cream yer jeanz. The sherrif in Ogemaw county at the time was William 'Don'tCallMeBilly' Turner, who most of us had known since he was sh!tting yellow, so we alwayz called him Billy-boy, just ta p!ss him off.
I guess the rest of the song is self-explanitory, except for the fact that my big brother's name really was Chuck.
--T
