I love those cars and know someone who has a red one he bought new and still drives, probably not daily. I went out with a real geek in one though back in the day, yikes, get me back home quickly. Or what was the car where the seats rolled back into a bed? I remember thinking at Wendy's I hope he doesn't decide to show me how that feature is attained. Holy moly. Now I remember why in some cases, no baby will never ever happen!
I had a mustache in 11th grade, in 1969. I was I think the only kid with a mustache in my entire class of 800+ students. It did not help at all with my dating. This was before the days of porn staches, so I don't think that's the reason girls avoided me, though it might have been.
Having spent a short time living in LA, I probably know but wish I did not. Besides that, I DETEST facial hair anywhere near a man I Might be interested in knowing further. Males;, listen up.
Are you trying to tell us that babies come from......having sex?????
OK, OK, OK -- Now I get it! You didn't include your usual disclaimer "I am not making this up," so that means you ARE making this up -- Right???
I would like to discuss this further with you this morning, but we had a wind storm last night, and I have to go put some sticks back in the stork's nest on top of our chimney. My wife and I hope that will finally attract one of those storks that deliver babies. We would really like to do our part to help deal with the population crisis.
In nine months, Miami hospitals will be full of offended babies. That is, of course, if all that drinking doesn’t wilt a Scotsman’s kilt. Oh, The Wilted Kilts would be a good name for a Dave Barry led band.
Your father's Metropolitan looks pretty sexy compared to the first car I drove: my mom's 1959 Rambler station wagon. It was the world's most underpowered car, so it was perfect for a novice driver. I had to plan well in advance before turning into traffic, and left hand turns were the worst. Fortunately, since I was a teenage girl I didn't have to impress dates with my ride. In those days we had to wait for the boy to make the first move. I did manage to attract one of my classmates in my junior year of high school. He drove his father's Buick LeSabre coupe, but I didn't hold that against him. We've been married for 53 years and counting.
Back in 1965, my future husband, (boyfriend at the time) drove his father's old 54 Plymouth. Had a nice front seat as well as back seat. When he took the plastic Jesus off the dashboard of the car and put it into the glove compartment, I knew we were in for some "fun"!!
My new husband also had a Hillman convertible and while cute enough; it would catch on fire occasionally. When the battery died, he could get out and crank it like an old Model A and T. One day I was 9 months pregnant and the engine started smoking so he tore over to the curb and I jumped out. When he picked up the baby and I later on, he had traded in the firetrap for a sweet little new Volvo sedan!!!
My maiden name is Baird, from a distinctive Highland Scots clan, evidently a degenerate group of bards and highwaymen, and I am always, always, offended. For no apparent reason. Meanwhile, at the tender age of 18, fresh out of high school, I joined the U.S. Army, again for no apparent reason. Except that I learned Russian and spent my formative years in West Berlin, which was really very cool, except for the Army part. The point is, there I was, surrounded by young men with surging hormones, and the Army saw fit to issue BCGs (Birth Control Glasses) 👓 to all of us sight-challenged folks. They were like yours in your high school photo, but uglier — heavy black horn rims. Happily, the ratio of women to men still worked in my favor. Now that sex only appears in my rearview mirror, my favorite hobby is trying to improve upon your names for a rock 🎸 band. How about “Riveting Rosie Bombers Together”?
That' s hysterical and yes, the first time I've heard it...and I've heard a lot thru the decades, speaking of rear view mirrors. Nice Catholic girls from the Midwest did NOT have sex in the backseat of cars!!!
Tamara- did you learn Russian while in the army? Just wondering if you went to the defense language Institute. I was there learning North Vietnamese. I was hoping they would send me to West Germany, but…
I was at DLI from 1980-82 for Basic and Intermediate Russian training. 2 1/2 years of training in total for a 3-year assignment as a 98-Golf: Electronic Warfare Signals intelligence Intercept Operator — but I can’t tell you what I did! 😁 Ten years later as an American diplomat (political-military officer) in Minsk, I wanted to build some street cred with the Belarusian Defense Minister, so I told him that I too had served in the Army. He asked where and when. I replied, “Berlin from 1983 to 1986. He said, “No kidding! Me too….”
Tamara, I was sure---so sure---that the Army REALLY issued those glasses as birth control---and in no way as an aid to better vision. What a funny---appropriate---name! Good band name, too.
Tamara, I was ASA too and that was not much like the Regular Army in my experience ... of course RA disbanded ASA in 1975 ... I've never forgiven them.
Watching your videos I couldn't help but think, wouldn't it have been a riot if International Talk Like a Pirate Day had coincided with the activities of the Tartan Army this week?
The best instruction manual ever written is Dave Barry's Guide to Guys. (It's also contains my entire anti-drug argument in the form of a story about getting high & being threatened by a hurricane. HILARIOUS 🤣🤣🤣🤣)
YES, I love that too. When Dave made a comment about struggling for new ideas, I suggested he do a new bad song survey. It's been a while and a lot more bad songs have come out.
I read it in the library. Tears were streaming down my face as I roared! People must have thought I was crazy. I then went straight to Barnes & Noble and bought the book.
So glad Scotland got to experience Miami before it went under water. I'm surprised that Boston didn't have enough beer but Miami did. What were they drinking when they got in the tropics?
I would love to think that my generation was responsible for more than dress down Fridays. Though I noticed that we are also responsible for high school kids being allowed to wear shorts to school. I remember my friend Steve who wore Bermuda Shorts the last day of school 1964, with a coat and tie. high socks, dress shirt and dress shoes and being sent home. Today the girls are wearing Daisy Dukes. But having less sex. That is just crazy. There is no God.
At my all girls Catholic high school, you didn't get sent home for uniform infractions. Instead, you had to wear -- all day -- a uniform from medieval times. School kept in a closet some from the "old days."
I grew up in a beautiful old 3-storey red brick house which my Dad bought from my maternal grandfather. My Mom's parents lived on the ground floor but spent 6 months in Florida each year. My Dad's mother lived in the top floor. We lived on the second floor. There was a somewhat forbidding, multi-chambered basement accessible from outside or from the main floor. The access from outside was a sunken staircase covered by a split, hinged, trapdoor cover exactly like the entrance to a storm shelter. That led directly into the finished basement room.
Naturally, my first serious girlfriend "Jane" and I would sneak into that basement from outside and make out on Friday and Saturday nights. This worked well until the Friday night preceding an event taking place at our house on Saturday.
The room you had to go through to get to the finished basement room from upstairs, in preparation for next days festivities, was full of flowers, pastries, extra chairs and Lord knows what else. Undeterred, Jane and I sneaked into the basement via the outside door. There was a twin bed which doubled as a couch. We very quickly found ourselves wrapped unclothed in a large, white-furred hide once belonging to some large animal. Our clothes were strewn everywhere giving support to the storm-shelter theme. I have no idea what that hide was doing in our basement.
All was well until we heard the door from the main floor open and then we heard the voices of my Aunt "Connie" and her daughter, my cousin, "Marylou." Marylou was preceding Aunt Connie down the stairs chattering away to her Mom. Marylou walked into the finished room with Aunt Connie in tow and the chattering stopped abruptly in midsentence. Marylou pulled a 180 at about 80,000 radians/second and steered Aunt Connie back upstairs, telling us to get dressed and meet us on the second floor. Jane and I thought our lives were pretty much over at that point.
We appeared (fully clothed and sheepish as all get out) in the kitchen on the second floor where Aunt Connie (May God bless her eternal soul) proceeded to lecture us at the table on the perils of teen lust and then dismissed us with a reassurance that what happens in the basement stays in the basement. Marylou was witness to all this and was barely able to keep a straight face. Thankfully, my Mom and Dad were out that night.
This put an end to the basement Love Shack forays but we quickly pivoted to sneaking into my Grandfather's 55 Chevy which was housed in one of the bays of the four-car cinderblock garage at the back of our property. The Chevy wasn't a Chrysler and wasn't "as big as a whale" and didn't "seat about twenty" but the back seat was big enough for Jane and me.
Dave, your mention of your dad driving a Nash brought back a memory.
My father drove Nash Ramblers almost exclusively. As a kid, I assumed it was because they were cheaper than a Chevy.
It took me years to realize there may have been another reason.
Dad entertained in lounges for a living and had a weakness for attractive women. The Nash’s front seats folded flat into a bed. Suddenly, his loyalty to the brand made a whole lot more sense. Why pay for a motel room when Detroit had already solved the problem?
I suppose I inherited his practical aptitude for problem solving except when I bought a used MG with a stick shift. Lesson learned.
We kids once came home from a movie our parents had insisted we go see and their clothes were all over the living room. When we asked what happened, mom said, “Well, it wouldn’t have happened if you were home.” At 11, 9 and 5 we had no idea what she meant.
like men in kilts. Unlike pants, they are free love-ish. (??) (Irish wear kilts, too, but not to the extent of the Scottish.) It's like the guy at the Saturday market who holds a sign, "Free hugs!" (which offended a cousin visiting from Ireland -- "Who would want a hug from that man?" I grew up surrounded with Irish accents. I suspect that gave me an edge in understanding my Scottish friends.
re: dating. One guy I 'briefly' dated in high school drove me home after a movie. It was a dark January night. He stops the car in front of my building: "Well, wanna go watch submarine races at the lake? (Lake Michigan) My response: "Wow, they really have races in the winter? How can you see them?" He never asked me out again.
At university a guy at a party said ... Johnny Cash? John Wayne? was visiting his fraternity and did I want to go meet him? Fortunately, I was a fan of neither and didn't take the bait... but naive enough to believe he was telling me the truth. He said the celebrity had his Winnebago parked by the frat house.
Addendum: Babies, one of the problems is that there are fewer storks to make deliveries! (Several stork species on endangered list.) They tried enlisting the aid of shoebill storks, but that didn't work out.
AI is so amusing sometimes:
" In reality, storks cannot carry babies due to physical limitations."
My ancestors were Scots but I'm pretty sure the kilt-wearing gene somehow got whittled out of my DNA before getting to me. I don't even wear *shorts* in summer months, and imagining family events back in the 1950s-60s -- with me, my dad and brother, assorted cousins and uncles, all wearing kilts while swilling Budweiser -- it kinda brrrreaks me brain, ye ken, lass?
"If you are thinking of the classic flying bird carrying a heavy, spherical object, this is actually rooted in the famous Monty Python and the Holy Grail satire, which questions if a swallow could manage the feat."
----
There is a lively? conversation on Reddit r/AskScienceFiction:
[monty python] let’s finally put the question to rest could a sallow carry a coconut to Europe?
The name of that boy from another school?
Gary Larson.
Don Martin.
Don Martin, the Mad Magazine cartoonist?
Yep.
FWOOM. Of course.
Sergio Aragones. 💕
His mini Mad drawings would fit perfectly in a Nash Metropolitan.
Marginalia in a Metropolitan. There’s a clowns-in-a-Volkswagen joke in there somewhere.
I love those cars and know someone who has a red one he bought new and still drives, probably not daily. I went out with a real geek in one though back in the day, yikes, get me back home quickly. Or what was the car where the seats rolled back into a bed? I remember thinking at Wendy's I hope he doesn't decide to show me how that feature is attained. Holy moly. Now I remember why in some cases, no baby will never ever happen!
Assuming he already had that mustache by the 11th grade, I wouldn't blame Pam for a second...
I had a mustache in 11th grade, in 1969. I was I think the only kid with a mustache in my entire class of 800+ students. It did not help at all with my dating. This was before the days of porn staches, so I don't think that's the reason girls avoided me, though it might have been.
Please—nobody ask Patrick what a porn stache is.
Please don't. I feel ashamed enough as it is.
Having spent a short time living in LA, I probably know but wish I did not. Besides that, I DETEST facial hair anywhere near a man I Might be interested in knowing further. Males;, listen up.
I had a classmate who had to start shaving in 7th or 8th grade. (1966 - 1967.) He had many, many admirers - me included!
Unfortunately, my mustache was kind of wispy, of the not-quite-there variety. Slightly better than peachfuzz but not enough to be taken seriously.
Hey, HE could draw!
Gene Weingarten. 😉
Really??
I think so. I looked it up and Dave and Gary did, in fact, go to different schools.
:)
plz exhibit credible proof of said allegation, i.e., he could draw.
Wait a minute, Dave!
Are you trying to tell us that babies come from......having sex?????
OK, OK, OK -- Now I get it! You didn't include your usual disclaimer "I am not making this up," so that means you ARE making this up -- Right???
I would like to discuss this further with you this morning, but we had a wind storm last night, and I have to go put some sticks back in the stork's nest on top of our chimney. My wife and I hope that will finally attract one of those storks that deliver babies. We would really like to do our part to help deal with the population crisis.
In nine months, Miami hospitals will be full of offended babies. That is, of course, if all that drinking doesn’t wilt a Scotsman’s kilt. Oh, The Wilted Kilts would be a good name for a Dave Barry led band.
So would “Offended Babies”.
Dave Barry and the Offended Babies Band is a fantastic name.
Why was “Mandatory Federal Dance” not on the list of band name choices? Fear of an intellectual property lawsuit by Federal Duck?
"offended babies": (laughing)
Forget "The Offended Babies" for a Dave Barry band name.
"The Wilted Kilts" is a far better name and is definitely more appropriate for what I imagine Dave Barry's band would consist of and look like.
Your father's Metropolitan looks pretty sexy compared to the first car I drove: my mom's 1959 Rambler station wagon. It was the world's most underpowered car, so it was perfect for a novice driver. I had to plan well in advance before turning into traffic, and left hand turns were the worst. Fortunately, since I was a teenage girl I didn't have to impress dates with my ride. In those days we had to wait for the boy to make the first move. I did manage to attract one of my classmates in my junior year of high school. He drove his father's Buick LeSabre coupe, but I didn't hold that against him. We've been married for 53 years and counting.
The Buick had a huge back seat !
just saying…
"...or so I'm told."
Lololol
Back in 1965, my future husband, (boyfriend at the time) drove his father's old 54 Plymouth. Had a nice front seat as well as back seat. When he took the plastic Jesus off the dashboard of the car and put it into the glove compartment, I knew we were in for some "fun"!!
It had a huge *front* seat. I miss bench seats.
I drive a Rambler also!
A Little Nash Rambler? 🎶 🎵
I had to drive a 1968 Toyota Corolla in 1976. Good times.
PS-The back seat was big enough.
To quote Darth Vader: Impressive. Most impressive.
Uh oh now Dave will have to start censoring the comments if we start describing the details of how and where we did it in a car
Did you read the title or the article? It's about SEX.
Ha! Did it in a Porsche. More than once.
I drove a 1976 Corolla Wagon in 1982!
My parents had a 1962 Hillman Super Minx. I had to remind my mom when to shift. Over the sound of the gears clashing.
My new husband also had a Hillman convertible and while cute enough; it would catch on fire occasionally. When the battery died, he could get out and crank it like an old Model A and T. One day I was 9 months pregnant and the engine started smoking so he tore over to the curb and I jumped out. When he picked up the baby and I later on, he had traded in the firetrap for a sweet little new Volvo sedan!!!
My maiden name is Baird, from a distinctive Highland Scots clan, evidently a degenerate group of bards and highwaymen, and I am always, always, offended. For no apparent reason. Meanwhile, at the tender age of 18, fresh out of high school, I joined the U.S. Army, again for no apparent reason. Except that I learned Russian and spent my formative years in West Berlin, which was really very cool, except for the Army part. The point is, there I was, surrounded by young men with surging hormones, and the Army saw fit to issue BCGs (Birth Control Glasses) 👓 to all of us sight-challenged folks. They were like yours in your high school photo, but uglier — heavy black horn rims. Happily, the ratio of women to men still worked in my favor. Now that sex only appears in my rearview mirror, my favorite hobby is trying to improve upon your names for a rock 🎸 band. How about “Riveting Rosie Bombers Together”?
I remember when I first heard the term BCG's from a friend of mine in the military back in the 80's. Hilarious.
That' s hysterical and yes, the first time I've heard it...and I've heard a lot thru the decades, speaking of rear view mirrors. Nice Catholic girls from the Midwest did NOT have sex in the backseat of cars!!!
Tamara- did you learn Russian while in the army? Just wondering if you went to the defense language Institute. I was there learning North Vietnamese. I was hoping they would send me to West Germany, but…
I was at DLI from 1980-82 for Basic and Intermediate Russian training. 2 1/2 years of training in total for a 3-year assignment as a 98-Golf: Electronic Warfare Signals intelligence Intercept Operator — but I can’t tell you what I did! 😁 Ten years later as an American diplomat (political-military officer) in Minsk, I wanted to build some street cred with the Belarusian Defense Minister, so I told him that I too had served in the Army. He asked where and when. I replied, “Berlin from 1983 to 1986. He said, “No kidding! Me too….”
Tamara, I was sure---so sure---that the Army REALLY issued those glasses as birth control---and in no way as an aid to better vision. What a funny---appropriate---name! Good band name, too.
How did those glasses work? I’m confused.
The eye glasses were so ugly, they kept the opposite sex away! 😂
Ah, thank you.
thick, black frames .. bloody awful, they screamed NERD
Tamara, I was ASA too and that was not much like the Regular Army in my experience ... of course RA disbanded ASA in 1975 ... I've never forgiven them.
I'm Scottish and here in the highlands women are scarce and sheep are nervous...
That was our motto in the Forest Service in Colorado in the 70s
Watching your videos I couldn't help but think, wouldn't it have been a riot if International Talk Like a Pirate Day had coincided with the activities of the Tartan Army this week?
Tarrrrtan Arrrrmy!
Rim shot ;}
Arrrgh! Where's me pint?
You are obsessed with s-e-x. You wrote the definitive book covering the subject: “Dave Barry’s Guide to Marriage and/or Sex”
Readers should be advised that this tome is among the funniest books and has not been banned. Until tomorrow.
He also wrote “Babies and Other Hazards of Sex” which I had the privilege of copy editing, guffawing in my cubicle.
Almost like being handed the first draft of the Constitution or War and Peace?
Exactly! I became a huge fan at 22. And he influenced my own humor writing.
Already banned in Florida!!
The best instruction manual ever written is Dave Barry's Guide to Guys. (It's also contains my entire anti-drug argument in the form of a story about getting high & being threatened by a hurricane. HILARIOUS 🤣🤣🤣🤣)
I love them all but the one I would take to a deserted island is “Dave Barry’s Book of Bad Songs.” I laughed so hard I couldn’t see straight!
YES, I love that too. When Dave made a comment about struggling for new ideas, I suggested he do a new bad song survey. It's been a while and a lot more bad songs have come out.
True!
I read it in the library. Tears were streaming down my face as I roared! People must have thought I was crazy. I then went straight to Barnes & Noble and bought the book.
I still laugh at what I read in The Guide to Guys handbook. The part about the men’s room urinal etiquette kills me!!
I don’t see any chance of the Baby Recession being reversed until the Strait of Hormuz is truly opened. Sad.
I’ve never considered my feminine parts to be the Strait of Hormuz. More the Strait of Hormones in my day.
How ‘bout the Strait of Hermooz?
Strait of Hermoods
So glad Scotland got to experience Miami before it went under water. I'm surprised that Boston didn't have enough beer but Miami did. What were they drinking when they got in the tropics?
I would love to think that my generation was responsible for more than dress down Fridays. Though I noticed that we are also responsible for high school kids being allowed to wear shorts to school. I remember my friend Steve who wore Bermuda Shorts the last day of school 1964, with a coat and tie. high socks, dress shirt and dress shoes and being sent home. Today the girls are wearing Daisy Dukes. But having less sex. That is just crazy. There is no God.
At my all girls Catholic high school, you didn't get sent home for uniform infractions. Instead, you had to wear -- all day -- a uniform from medieval times. School kept in a closet some from the "old days."
with chastity belts?
And wimples, maybe. The school yearbook's "Student Life" section must've been... eye-opening.
I grew up in a beautiful old 3-storey red brick house which my Dad bought from my maternal grandfather. My Mom's parents lived on the ground floor but spent 6 months in Florida each year. My Dad's mother lived in the top floor. We lived on the second floor. There was a somewhat forbidding, multi-chambered basement accessible from outside or from the main floor. The access from outside was a sunken staircase covered by a split, hinged, trapdoor cover exactly like the entrance to a storm shelter. That led directly into the finished basement room.
Naturally, my first serious girlfriend "Jane" and I would sneak into that basement from outside and make out on Friday and Saturday nights. This worked well until the Friday night preceding an event taking place at our house on Saturday.
The room you had to go through to get to the finished basement room from upstairs, in preparation for next days festivities, was full of flowers, pastries, extra chairs and Lord knows what else. Undeterred, Jane and I sneaked into the basement via the outside door. There was a twin bed which doubled as a couch. We very quickly found ourselves wrapped unclothed in a large, white-furred hide once belonging to some large animal. Our clothes were strewn everywhere giving support to the storm-shelter theme. I have no idea what that hide was doing in our basement.
All was well until we heard the door from the main floor open and then we heard the voices of my Aunt "Connie" and her daughter, my cousin, "Marylou." Marylou was preceding Aunt Connie down the stairs chattering away to her Mom. Marylou walked into the finished room with Aunt Connie in tow and the chattering stopped abruptly in midsentence. Marylou pulled a 180 at about 80,000 radians/second and steered Aunt Connie back upstairs, telling us to get dressed and meet us on the second floor. Jane and I thought our lives were pretty much over at that point.
We appeared (fully clothed and sheepish as all get out) in the kitchen on the second floor where Aunt Connie (May God bless her eternal soul) proceeded to lecture us at the table on the perils of teen lust and then dismissed us with a reassurance that what happens in the basement stays in the basement. Marylou was witness to all this and was barely able to keep a straight face. Thankfully, my Mom and Dad were out that night.
This put an end to the basement Love Shack forays but we quickly pivoted to sneaking into my Grandfather's 55 Chevy which was housed in one of the bays of the four-car cinderblock garage at the back of our property. The Chevy wasn't a Chrysler and wasn't "as big as a whale" and didn't "seat about twenty" but the back seat was big enough for Jane and me.
Kids these days just don't know how to have fun.
Excellent story. Bless you, Jane, Marylou, and Aunt Connie in equal parts!
Thank you. I appreciate the feedback. True story.
P.S. You might like my blog: www.lateralthinkingdepartment.com
Dave, your mention of your dad driving a Nash brought back a memory.
My father drove Nash Ramblers almost exclusively. As a kid, I assumed it was because they were cheaper than a Chevy.
It took me years to realize there may have been another reason.
Dad entertained in lounges for a living and had a weakness for attractive women. The Nash’s front seats folded flat into a bed. Suddenly, his loyalty to the brand made a whole lot more sense. Why pay for a motel room when Detroit had already solved the problem?
I suppose I inherited his practical aptitude for problem solving except when I bought a used MG with a stick shift. Lesson learned.
We kids once came home from a movie our parents had insisted we go see and their clothes were all over the living room. When we asked what happened, mom said, “Well, it wouldn’t have happened if you were home.” At 11, 9 and 5 we had no idea what she meant.
I really, no REALLY,
like men in kilts. Unlike pants, they are free love-ish. (??) (Irish wear kilts, too, but not to the extent of the Scottish.) It's like the guy at the Saturday market who holds a sign, "Free hugs!" (which offended a cousin visiting from Ireland -- "Who would want a hug from that man?" I grew up surrounded with Irish accents. I suspect that gave me an edge in understanding my Scottish friends.
re: dating. One guy I 'briefly' dated in high school drove me home after a movie. It was a dark January night. He stops the car in front of my building: "Well, wanna go watch submarine races at the lake? (Lake Michigan) My response: "Wow, they really have races in the winter? How can you see them?" He never asked me out again.
At university a guy at a party said ... Johnny Cash? John Wayne? was visiting his fraternity and did I want to go meet him? Fortunately, I was a fan of neither and didn't take the bait... but naive enough to believe he was telling me the truth. He said the celebrity had his Winnebago parked by the frat house.
Addendum: Babies, one of the problems is that there are fewer storks to make deliveries! (Several stork species on endangered list.) They tried enlisting the aid of shoebill storks, but that didn't work out.
AI is so amusing sometimes:
" In reality, storks cannot carry babies due to physical limitations."
I remember submarine races in Lake Michigan, too. Haven’t thought about them in years! Thanks for the memory.
My ancestors were Scots but I'm pretty sure the kilt-wearing gene somehow got whittled out of my DNA before getting to me. I don't even wear *shorts* in summer months, and imagining family events back in the 1950s-60s -- with me, my dad and brother, assorted cousins and uncles, all wearing kilts while swilling Budweiser -- it kinda brrrreaks me brain, ye ken, lass?
Can they carry coconuts?
AI would like to have a word with you:
"If you are thinking of the classic flying bird carrying a heavy, spherical object, this is actually rooted in the famous Monty Python and the Holy Grail satire, which questions if a swallow could manage the feat."
----
There is a lively? conversation on Reddit r/AskScienceFiction:
[monty python] let’s finally put the question to rest could a sallow carry a coconut to Europe?
It's time to end the debate once and for all.
The first time my friend talked about submarine racing I was equally surprised. I said wow, really?
Welcome to Team Submarine Races!
We will not be discussing the paisleys on a lime green tuxedo that a certain person wore to the junior prom, ok?
I feel like that is the moment when the national sex drive went into recession.
My high school boyfriend drove a Nash rambler which had fold down front seats! It was hard to be any cooler in 1968😎
A laid-down Rambler is also a lyric in one of Delbert McClinton’s best songs, “ B Movie Boxcar Blues.”
I’ll check it out! I love Delbert.