Hi Guys, This is a sign that was with my original GN when I showed it in the mid 80's, was created by the original owner, thought you might enjoy it....
You’re sitting at the stoplight in your new Camaro, your best girl by your side, en-route to the local night spot...
You're listening to the soft burble of the 305's exhaust note and remark to your honey how there's no new car that can touch you. Suddenly a sinister black machine pulls up to your right, and you glance over to check it out. The other car revs its motor. "Ha, a Buick", you jest, bragging to your girlfriend that you wouldn't waste your gasoline to blow away an old ladies car.
The racing-jacketed Buick driver looks over and edges toward the limit line, holding the engine against the convertor with the brakes. "It says Grand National on the fender", your girl notices. "What does that mean?" "Don't mean nuthin'," you reply, "That's only a six... I could smoke him without touching the secondaries."
The talking stops as the cross-light turns yellow. The Buick driver stares straight ahead, still holding the car back with the brakes. You check the traffic and bring the engine up to 3500 rpm, ready to side-step the clutch the instant the light turns green.
The go-light hits and your off, standing on the throttle pedal hard enough to bend the floor boards, the Goodyear Eagles hazing wisps of smoke as you go for second gear.
You glance to your right and are shocked to see the Buick neck-and-neck with your Z-28. Enraged, you slam third gear but the Buick edges ahead, moving out like no six you ever saw. Now he’s a full length ahead of you and still pulling away. Your palms are gushing sweat so heavily you can barely grasp the shifter, and you power-shift fourth gear in a futile attempt to catch up. The Buick is now practically two lengths in front, and you back off to avoid further embarrassment.
You don’t look over, you don’t say a word.. .you’re embarrassed.
That “old ladies car” just blew your doors off.
You’re sitting at the stoplight in your new Camaro, your best girl by your side, en-route to the local night spot...
You're listening to the soft burble of the 305's exhaust note and remark to your honey how there's no new car that can touch you. Suddenly a sinister black machine pulls up to your right, and you glance over to check it out. The other car revs its motor. "Ha, a Buick", you jest, bragging to your girlfriend that you wouldn't waste your gasoline to blow away an old ladies car.
The racing-jacketed Buick driver looks over and edges toward the limit line, holding the engine against the convertor with the brakes. "It says Grand National on the fender", your girl notices. "What does that mean?" "Don't mean nuthin'," you reply, "That's only a six... I could smoke him without touching the secondaries."
The talking stops as the cross-light turns yellow. The Buick driver stares straight ahead, still holding the car back with the brakes. You check the traffic and bring the engine up to 3500 rpm, ready to side-step the clutch the instant the light turns green.
The go-light hits and your off, standing on the throttle pedal hard enough to bend the floor boards, the Goodyear Eagles hazing wisps of smoke as you go for second gear.
You glance to your right and are shocked to see the Buick neck-and-neck with your Z-28. Enraged, you slam third gear but the Buick edges ahead, moving out like no six you ever saw. Now he’s a full length ahead of you and still pulling away. Your palms are gushing sweat so heavily you can barely grasp the shifter, and you power-shift fourth gear in a futile attempt to catch up. The Buick is now practically two lengths in front, and you back off to avoid further embarrassment.
You don’t look over, you don’t say a word.. .you’re embarrassed.
That “old ladies car” just blew your doors off.
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A couple guys wanted me to pop the hood. I would always pop the hood because they had no clue what they were looking at.
