Building a bar on your own is like an onion. So many layers, and all make you cry. — O’Shea Shenanigans

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Hot Wheels

Posted by LC Aggie Sith on Friday, January 18, 2013 in Icon, Open Thread

I’m not one to have aspirations of a dream car. To me, a car is just utilitarian. But if I had to choose, I have to pick a silver Thunderbird.

silver t-bird

Why, you may ask? Well, because of this.

Now, I’m not saying I am *ahem* ascended from the Divine in any way. I’m just saying that God and I have great taste. I’ll never own one, but it’s nice to want it from afar. That’s what I tell myself whenever I drive the SUV full of screaming kids. Actually, that’s what I tell myself all the time.

So, if money were no object, what would be your ultimate dream car?

And the Tesla™ doesn’t count :D

Bring on the comments

  1. Tiberius says:

    Meh. Something loud and polluting bristling with guns -- anything to piss off the fucking greenies

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  2. GMLand says:

    Bentley Continental Coupe with a vodka dispenser and built in hookers.

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  3. Amazing how reality differs from person to person ;)

  4. Reiuxcat says:

    Scroll down a little, the maroon one is featured.

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  5. David says:

    Since I can’t cite the Tesla Roadster (or S car--watch it go *heh*), and probably would hold off on one of those (even if I had the $$) unless Tesla would sell it with the towable generator of early prototypes, I guess I’d have to settle for a 1948 MG TC. Not much in the way of get up n go, but it’d be fun to drive and a peach to work on. Love the Rudge wheels.

    http://classiccarblog.co.uk/wp-content/gallery/mg-tc/mg-tc-eur-243.jpg

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  6. PepeLp says:

    I’d go for a luxury cruiser, Audi, Mercedes, BMW. Something that is smooth, comfortable, and dead quiet inside when you’re cruising down the highway.

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  7. Sentry says:

    One of these…but red. With a fifth wheel and two inch receiver hitch. And a wet bar. and while we’re at it, how aboot a hill within an hour’s drive of my house?

    http://youtu.be/BUSdHjE-Fjo

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  8. Sentry says:

    um…hehe. Wups. Wrong link.

    http://youtu.be/kaYUY2YM7vI

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  9. My grandfather bought my mother a 1957 T-bird, convertible hardtop, opera windows, black with red, tuck and roll leather. She mounted a red devil with a solid silver pitchfork hood ornament (from the REAL Abercrombie & Fitch) on the scoop. I used to dive it in high school.

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  10. wandering neurons says:

    Tatra 813 Kolos. Eight-wheeled goodness, driven by a 17 liter, 12 cylinder air-cooled diesel engine. Five-speed gearbox with two splitters, for 20 forward gears. Seven ton payload and capable of pulling over 200,000 lbs on a trailer. Seven-person cab. Czechoslovakian ex-mil goodness, fix it with a screwdriver and hammer. Customize with truck rally roll cage and have the ultimate off-roader.
    Why? Because… SHUT UP!

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  11. PrimEvil says:

    OOOooo…I luuuuves me some old T-Bird.
    I can has T-Bird, too?
    *slurp*

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  12. hilljohnny says:

    my first car was a 59 olds. still miss it.

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  13. Dave in Texas says:

    Baby you can drive my car.

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  14. Sorry you went to the spam bucket, Brad!!

  15. Wiccapundit says:

    ’64 Lincoln Continental convertible, with the suicide doors.

    That bad boy was wicked, even before The Matrix made it cool, and prices shot up on them.

    Or a First Gen Firebird. I actually had one of those.

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  16. Larry says:

    A fire engine red 2011 Mustang GT/CS convertible…like the one in my driveway right now. :D

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  17. Mr. Matamoros says:

    Lotus Elise or DeTomaso Pantera.

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  18. cmblake6 says:

    I’d really like to check one of these new Challengers, since the Feds no longer own controlling stock of the company. Or one of the new ‘Stangs. Nothing produced by GM. For foreign cars, I have a weakness for Volvos.

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  19. cmblake6 says:

    Or, come to think of it, Beemers.

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  20. razorbacker says:

    1963 Thunderbird. I had one, for a short period of time until I went to act as driver on a cross-country trip with my grandparents. My dad sold it while I was gone, because some sumbeech came along and offered more than it was ‘worth’.

    He didn’t know. He couldn’t have known. What that baby blue, spaceship cockpitted, gas sucking 390 V8ed, eardrum splitting audio equipped, pure-D joyous freedom machine meant to me. Me, who had pulled it out of the junk yard and spent every single free moment for so long building, searching for parts from various other junk cars and painstakingly fitting and forcing and cajoling into a harmonious symphony of in-your-face perfection.

    It was never the same after that, between he and I. He couldn’t understand why I was so hurt and betrayed. I couldn’t understand why he couldn’t see what it had meant to me.

    I forgave him, eventually. I just couldn’t forget it. If he were still alive I’d call him up and forgive him again. And he’d once again wonder at my bull-headed inability to just let it go.

    But it’s hard to let go of something that you love too much. Even when it’s the right thing to do. Even when it’s just a machine, just a bunch of junk parts that you’ve bolted together into a sum greater than the components.

    He hadn’t sold an old car. He had sold his son.

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