Anybody remember the 1950 Nash Rambler?
Blatham, that's horrible.
Every child deserves to be chained to a Frigidaire, not a GE.
P-dog says: "All the more to love my dearie" or something like that, but don't let me speak on his behalf, please....and holy mackeral indeed (wot's that smell baby...)
Ahh, lowbrow humour...
yeah, a tall, blond, athletic aussie. can't miss with that combo.
Quote:Anybody remember the 1950 Nash Rambler?
My dad had a slightly later model one -- don't remember what year -- that he bought for fifty bucks in the late 60s. Three speed, shifter on the stem. Had a big hole in the floorboards in the back where you could watch the road go by. My friends called it the Green Grenade and refused to ride in it.
Three-speed stick on the steering post is correct. The one my dad had was a convertible. It also had front seats that could be reclined all the way back so that the backrest of the front seat connected to the backseat and made a dandy bed. Never did have a chance to try that out on a date, though. Too young to drive at the time.
cavfancier wrote:P-dog says: "All the more to love my dearie" or something like that, but don't let me speak on his behalf, please....and holy mackeral indeed (wot's that smell baby...)
Ahh, lowbrow humour...
Watch it, buddy. Don't make me come over there and have Lauren beat you up.
Quote:Never did have a chance to try that out on a date, though. Too young to drive at the time.
Too young to drive? Or too young to
drive?
Lauren could truly beat me into submission, especially with balls in her hands.
She plays basketball, cav -- not marbles.
Oh, heck, 12 or 13 is old enough to drive.
Damn, it's gettin' nasty in here . . .
The working class plays basketball
The middle class plays tennis
The ruling class plays golf
The smaller yer balls, the higher ye rise . . .
We played with a giant "earth ball" in grade school. I guess they knew we were destined to be the dregs of society.
Lotta company down here in the slime, though, Boss . . .
Yeah, she plays basketball, what, she can't dribble two balls at the same time?
Sure, but, y'know, she's got big hands, and... well, y'know.
At any rate, she's liable to bounce them around a bit and then toss 'em in a bucket.
Setanta wrote:Damn, it's gettin' nasty in here . . .
The working class plays basketball
The middle class plays tennis
The ruling class plays golf
The smaller yer balls, the higher ye rise . . .
This is truly the "Peter Principal."
I just ran out to my living room, because i could hear shouting and such coming from outside. It was, in fact, the TV, which I had forgotten to turn off. There was one of those cops being followed by cameras shows on.
A fella was leading a whole posse of cops down a road. The cops - a lot of them - had big guns. He had a knife.
They were kind of upset with him about his knife, and were telling him to drop it. He wouldn't, which upset them more.
I was thinking, what IS this? This guy has twenty or more guns on him, some cops getting kind of agitated - he is NOT going to win this one, what kind of nut does this?
Then - I recalled the only time in my life when I had cops waving guns at ME, and very agitated, and telling me to put my f...ing hands up on the f...ing fence before they blew my f...ing brains out.
Odd thing is, it never occurred to me, or anyone I was with, to do as we were told! In fact, I moved TOWARDS them - with my hands in that open, peaceful gesture, and spoke to them as I would to frightened horses, to try to get them to calm down, which they did.
Is it a universal human thing to ignore the orders of agitated constabulary with big guns pointed at us? Seems odd, really...
I find it odd that cops are not inclined to be more relaxed when they find themselves in a nice posse...
