|Where all the white women at?|
Nothing says “ooh baby, I am ready to play” like a 1973 Mercury Colony Park. To be historically accurate, it needs a dash compass (to find your way home when you have no idea where you woke up), and a blanket in the wayback to buffer the metal cargo area and the vinyl seats when your getting busy with the swarms of hood rats that are inexorably drawn to this bastion of testosterone fueled manliness.
To be truthfully accurate, the blanket was actually for staying alive if the car broke down in the winter – not completely unheard of, once the grand “gasahol” experiment of 1978 fucked up its whole fuel system.
I would totally shag a girl in one of these