This one is more like an Iguana than a dragon, but maybe that name is a reflection of the Scottsdale blue hairs at whom it’s aimed.
Continue reading “The other Red Dragon”
Yeah, I found where Raoul hid it.
Luckily, my credit card was still technically valid. Now this was a superior machine. Ten grand worth of gimmicks and high-priced special effects. The rear windows leapt up with a touch like frogs in a dynamite pond. The dashboard was full of esoteric lights and dials and meters… that I would never understand.
The tires were a little low on air…
We made another turn and almost rolled again. The Coupe de Ville is not your ideal machine for high speed cornering in residential neighborhoods. The handling is very mushy… unlike the Red Shark, which had responded very nicely to situations requiring the quick four-wheel drift. But the Whale Bad of cutting loose at the critical moment—had a tendency to dig in, which accounted for that sickening “here we go’ sensation.At first I thought it was only because the tires were soft, so I took it into the Texaco station next to the Flamingo and had the tires pumped up to fifty pounds each—which alarmed the attendant, until I explained that these were “experimental” tires.
|Texaco –> ARCO
But fifty pounds each didn’t help the cornering, so I went back a few hours later and told him I wanted to try seventy five. He shook his head nervously. “Not me,” he said, handing me the air hose. “Here. They’re your tires. You do it.”“What’s wrong?” I asked. “You think they can’t take seventy-five?” He nodded, moving away as I stooped to deal with the left front. “You’re damn right,” he said. “Those tires want twenty eight in the front and thirty two in the rear. Hell, fifty’s dangerous, but seventy five is crazy. They’ll explode!” I shook my head and kept filling the left front. “I told you,” I said, “Sandoz laboratories designed these tires. They’re special. I could load them up to a hundred.“God almighty!” he groaned. “Don’t do that here.”“Not today,” I replied. “I want to see how they corner with seventy-five.” He chuckled. “You won’t even get to the corner, Mister.”“We’ll see,” I said, moving around to the rear with the air- hose. In truth, I was nervous. The two front ones were tighter than snare drums; they felt like teak wood when I tapped on them with the rod. But what the hell? I thought. If they explode, so what? It’s not often that a man gets a chance to run terminal experiments on a virgin Cadillac and four brand- new $80 tires. For all I knew, the thing might start cornering like a Lotus Elan. If not, all I had to do was call the VIP agency and have another one delivered… maybe threaten them with a lawsuit because all four tires had exploded on me, while driving in heavy traffic. Demand an Eldorado, next time, with four Michelin Xs. And put it all on the card…charge it to the St Louis Browns.
As it turned out, the Whale behaved very nicely with the altered tire pressures. The ride was a trifle rough; I could feel every pebble on the highway, like being on roller skates in a gravel pit.., but the thing began cornering in a very stylish manner, very much like driving a motorcycle at top speed in a hard rain: one slip and ZANG, over the high side, cartwheeling across the landscape with your head in your hands.
|Dad still won’t let me buy it
1970 Cadillac. In drag, or just under wraps?
I need a new business plan. Writing off my data plan and hosting costs is nice and all (#notactualtaxadvice), but fuuuuuuuuuuuuuck, it’s nice (one supposes) to have a net income. It evidently leads to perks. To wit:
Craig Jackson is the big cheese* at Barrett Jackson. BARRETT-JACKSON AUCTION COMPANY, LLC is a licensed (public consignment) auto dealer. What does that mean?
1. Dealer plates. Drive the best dealer demo ever for a couple of years, and the company gets a fat write off (#notactualtaxadvice) of the depreciation on a $2 million (+/-) car that’s been whored around town.
|I can make you a deal on this, but you can’t pay in donuts
2. Speaking of whoring…Look at the door. Look closely at the top of the windshield here. The aesthetic purist in me says, “Jesus Fuck, Craig Jackson! You let your beautiful Godzilla-eating monstrobot car get viciously stickerfied by JC Whitney/pussified by Justin Bieber. You’re as bad as Paris Hilton.” Then it hit me: ADVERTISING EXPENSE.
- Two million dollars and 35 cents (for the cheesy stickers) of acquisition cost? Advertising expense.
- 8 mpg? Advertising expense.
- Routine maintenance costs that equal the GNP of Kerplekistan? Advertising expense.
- Photo radar tickets? Probably irrelevant, because the registered owner is not a person. Otherwise? Advertising expense. (#notactualtaxadvice)
It all makes sense. I can see it now:
- Internet bullshit you’re reading now
- ? ? ?
|“Do you see who THAT is?” “Yeah, let’s go kick his ass!”
*trustee of the trust that manages the BJ holding LLC that manages the BJ auction company LLC.