I was 22 - I had just gotten a job. And I was a grade-A geek. What the freak did I know about cars? I turned to Dad. Apparently his sage advice was "just go to my dealer." Beyond four wheels, I don't think cars were his strong suit.
I got a Challenger (I really wanted a 'Cuda' but "Dad's guy" sold young guys whatever they had on the lot, i.e., what they wanted to get rid of). But this thing was a rocket. I bought the modest one because I was too cheap to pay for the insurance on the hot one. Little did they know. A wolf in sheep's clothing. You put a 155 pound driver in this thing and you barely doubled the car's weight. Add a 315 cubic inch V8, and, well, things happened. Fast. Very fast.
You've probably heard of comic-book cops. Bored on some radar speed trap,they pass the time by reading comic books. When the radar alarm goes off, they look up and pull over the hottest, fastest looking car, speeding or not.
My Challenger? Record unsullied. My BMWs? Tickets galore. Comic books? Still required reading.
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