Bad Decision Train Picking up Speed as Summer Clunker Season Kicks off in Earnest

Cold War Motors Outdoor Storage Facility #3, Ardrossan Ab: Connoisseurs clamored for crusty close-ups today as the Presidents car "collection" swelled again, this time celebrating the inexplicable arrival of another pair of high-rent classics courtesy of the Domestic Car Division and it's insatiable enthusiasm and uncanny capacity for post-war Americana at it's very most mediocre; saluting again the most awe-inspiring underachievements in ponderous 4-door sedan styling and poverty powertrains.

It doesn't run, but at least it's rusty

  Both of these latest dumpy darlings command corrosive curbside appeal, having probably stained the back rows of innumerable mud-lot markets over their long, shitty, slow-ass existences, and would have immediately been cheerfully cubed had any other semi-sensible organization ended up in possession of their tired, rotten, mouse-eaten carcasses.

Lucky one tail light is still... wait- no, it's broken, too.

  How and when it was decided that a 1957 Studebaker Champion should occupy the ledger of what some experts are calling "Operation South Bender" will likely remain among the many mysteries whose unraveling will be left to the archivists, accountants, and authors of what are sure to be a glut of tell-all biographies, sensationally slapped together to capitalize on the public's ravenous, bottomless appetite for self-destruction and comedic ineptitude.
  The President, secretly self-satisfied with the stricken Stude, has allocated double-digit funding to the Operation, making it one of the most expensive and grandiose ever undertaken, and probably among the most likely to result in grievous financial misconduct at every level. Flagrantly exorbitant purchases like 2 exhaust valves and a like number of connecting rod bearings are running up the red ink like an alcoholic, gambling-addicted televangelist whose wife just left him for a cute tattoo artist named Fiona. If there is enough capital left in the Company at the conclusion of this Operation to throw an old blanket over the seats in the crispy, threadbare interior, this reporter will be surprised indeed.
   Somewhere in the backs of their minds, many an auto aficionado will keep a list, long or short (or both, of course) of the cars that they will buy if they get a chance. It is the humble opinion of this publication that you could probably flip through every list ever made by every car collector and you would not exactly be overwhelmed by the number of times "1967 Fury I 4-door sedan" appears in your reading.

The name is synonymous with high performance.

  Just when staff at HQ had started to get used to the newest austerity programs ("Don't Flush the Toilet Tuesdays" are a surprise hit), budgets were slashed again (Candlelight Thursdays!) to bankroll this latest Presidential Battle Cruiser acquisition. Fresh from Agent 1080's Private Limited Personal Stock of 67-8 Furies, PBC #5 has been promoted to Outdoor Storage Facility #1, joining a half-dozen other haggard hopefuls behind the Fence of Shame, awaiting various amounts of attention and, inevitably, financing.
  Seeking to cash in (5 years too late, of course) on the muscle-car craze that has all but ruined the entire hobby, the President figures he can retire on the windfall he will surely realize when he flogs his original paint, three-on-the-tree, radio-deletee sweetie for maximum profit. Agents, fearful of invoking the legendary profanity, have been reluctant to remind el Grande Imbecilo that an important part of the muscle car experience is actually the big engine.

Another blue-chip stock; FoS needs extension already.

  Not that it even runs, either. This slant six is locked up like Manson, scheduled for replace- ment as soon as another can be located. Will this new Cruiser force the retirement of the legend, Battle Cruiser #3? Will 5 years mark the end of the reign of the 1972 Fury II coupe as Winter Beater Champion? Is it even a good idea to try? 
  "I don't care about your winter beater bullshit, I'm a muscle car guy now." said the President in an interview earlier today, trying on white sunglasses at London Drugs and getting some nervous looks from the staff, wary of the catastrophically inebriated.
   "Now is my time... I can feel it... coolness is within my grasp.

   Nonchalant confidence, thy name is Fury I."
  All Agents are reminded to start bringing their own chairs to the office, and report to Agent 086 to pick up your requisite rubber hose for "Siphoning Saturdays".