Hot Rods R Us

On February 10, 2007 by Eden M. Kennedy

Last week I drove down to WalMart.

I know! I can’t believe it either!

I hadn’t been there since around 1993, so I had to ask one of those nice greeters up front where the magazines were. As soon as I asked, I saw them, because they were about three feet in front of me. My lightning-fast powers of perception are legendary!

I found the magazine I wanted and was going to stand in line to buy it behind a woman who appeared to be pushing enough furniture for a three-bedroom house, but while I was waiting I started flipping through the magazine and I realized that it was so awesome that I needed to go back and buy every single copy on the rack.

Have you ever gone through one of those self-checkout lanes? The temptation to misuse them is terrible.


Oh, Mrs. Kennedy, why? you’re asking.

BECAUSE THAT’S DAVE’S CAR ON THE COVER!!!

Remember Dave? We’ve talked about him before, maybe this will refresh your memory. Or if you don’t want to read that, then just look at this:


That’s Jackson covering his ears because The Bucket is so loud it can sterilize a western gray squirrel (Spermophilus beecheyi) at fifty paces.

I would never lie to you.


So! Dave’s car is on the cover of Garage, which is Jesse James’s magazine. I like to think of Jesse James as Mr. Miss Congeniality, and I don’t think I’m the only one. However, he appears to have his own career, which is just darling.


And there’s a big article, too! Somehow they found out about Dave, I don’t know, maybe Jesse James reads my blog. Above we see Dave tearing down the backroads in his Studebaker.


And now Dave is famous for something other than his spectacular showmanship and blinding technique on one of his fancy-colored upright basses. I think it’s nice that he has a back-up talent just in case the whole music thing doesn’t work out. Because apparently I am Dave’s spinster aunt who says things like that and makes sure he eats all his leafy greens.


And so I devote this post to Dave and his awesome ability to coax terrifying amounts of horsepower out of whatever it is that makes cars go — bits of metal and springs, hamsters, chewing gum, the pure love of a virgin, and unicorn tears. That’s it, right? Want me to come over and reinflate at your transmission?

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