I'll cop to being a Christmas music junkie; nothing growing up quite meant the season was here like seeing the ancient Perry Como record come out of the drawer. The Da Yoopers, the cultural touchstone of Michigan's Upper Peninsula, have this low-rent holiday ode to oxidated GM products to stand as their second-greatest musical accomplishment outside of "Second Week of Deer Camp." Whether its a lead sled or a fine Bavarian coupe, cars can take us back in time, something Zaphod_has_a_heart_of_gold wants to use for good rather than evil:

Here's what I would do:
I want to travel back in time to 1973 or 1974 (it's not a very accurate time machine) and buy this car, hell I'd even settle for a 3.0cs or a 3.0CSi. I'd purchase the car in Germany, and like the allies 30 years earlier, I'd bomb around the country side. After a few thousand miles, a few hundred pints and maybe 1 or 2 Frauleins (undoubtedly after a few pints,) I would drive that little German rocket up to Bremerhaven in the north and onto a big ship to be delivered to the great Garden state of New Jersey. I would fly over and arrive a few days early so I could spend some time in Atlantic City, hang out with loose 70's women, and then ditch them as soon as my German baby arrived.

Heading west, I'd jump on I-80 and cruise to Philadelphia just in time to celebrate the Flyers Stanley cup victory, and then before things got out of hand, skip town again, still heading west, always west.

On my way, I think it would be fun to catch Bobby Unser in his prime at Pocono raceway, maybe bribe someone and let my German baby stretch her long legs for a minute.

I'd bomb through Cleveland, since Cleveland in the 70's was, well sort of like Cleveland now, not a great place. Toledo, South Bend and Chicago would go by slowly, a parade of lost cities, like the parade of Bears losses in '73 and '74.

Finally after Chicago, I'd turn north, maybe catch an encore of Bobby Unser in Milwaukee, before finally ending up in the small town of Wausau, Wisconsin.

I'd drive to the local high school where a young senior names Chris Bangle was just deciding whether to pursue a career in Industrial design or become a Methodist Minister. I'd corner him at the local diner parking lot make make him take a long hard look at my German 3.0CS and say:

"Chris Bangle, in 30 years you will look back at this moment and you will know that this, this beautiful piece of Teutonic machinery, is what cars are supposed to look like. See the trunk? Its got nice unbroken lines. See the grill, with all its character, it doesn't scream 'look at me,' or whisper 'don't mind me, Im just a bland reproduction.' See the nice greenhouse? This is the way cars are supposed to look damnit! Now forget those dreams of being a methodist minister, go to California, become a designer and promise me you will never ever ever make a car that looks like this monstrosity" (show him a picture of the trunk of an E63)

Then I'd put the car in storage, invest a few thousand dollars into a small company called "IBM" and get back in my time machine.