So the other day, I dropped in on 8 Barrel and the missus. 8 has a “new” car, a BMW 3 Series E90. It is a 335i, which means somewhere between 306 and 335 bhp. Wifey has an E93 335i – this: Both are hella fast. The 4 door is my choice for most purposes, except […]
on a Fucked Up And Stupid weekend in January 1988 when the newlywed Phids blow you off? Visit a frozen great lake and go bowling for beers in Bangor (pronounced bang-(h)er) Michigan. And not have sex with the one girl who showed up, because – duh – she only wants to be your friend.
8 Barrel and E, somewhere between Kalamazoo and Daytona Beach
and then fuck around with drifting in the snow until we forecheck a snowbank with the trunk!* 8 Barrel, moments before doing exactly that (Ed.: No, you DON’T get to live anything down. Ever.) *Flat out on Waite
Drive By Shootings What to drive when you live in a roach motel crappy apartment and have a fondness for Jim Beam that sometimes gets away from you. (Ed.: That would explain the cage?) What happened to the paint? Ask the Kraft American cheese slices. Moral of the story: Whiskey is for riding in the […]
I guess our test drive of a ’94 Mustang was a little too spirited. HT: Winding Road. We didn’t crach anything, but the spontaneous icy patches made it interesting, in a “Family Foods Fiat flashing before your eyes” kind of way. Vanderhyde Mckimmy (the predecessor dealer) was way cooler about shit like tree rash.