On the other hand, that Roller is sure to impress the ladies. And your asshole cow-orkers. Hell, it looks like it's a bit of mechanical work and some primer away from being a solid car again. It's even got a telly...vision inside, next to what looks like a loo... er, toilet.

Which means it's got to be a bloody good car.

The included trim bits and intact hood ornament finally win you over, and you decide it just might be worth calling about. The seller, who sounds like Ricardo Montalbán with a throat full of shag carpet, gives you the address and tells you "suuuuure, come and have a look at eet". Hell, it's worth the trip down to Fort Lauderdale to have a look at it in person.

You make the trip down that afternoon, the empty trailer (just in case) bouncing along behind your faded three-quarter-ton pickup, George Jones in the aftermarket Kenwood cassette deck. You're feeling pretty good about the car, and about life in general - hell, you've got the money for it, too; your tax returns just came in, and you reckon he'll haggle down to three and a half. The only dark spot on the horizon is a figurative one; the weatherman said a tropical storm was headed in, but there ain't a damn cloud in the sky.

You get off 95 and make a few turns, as he'd told you over the phone. The roads grow narrower, and eventually turn to gravel, and beaten-down bungalows begin to encroach on the shoulder. Finally, you come to a rusted chain-link fence around a few warehouses, a clump of drooping palm trees, and a poorly-aging Quonset hut.

A man in his late forties, wearing cutoff denim shorts and a Budweiser muscle shirt with both of his mantits hanging out of the shoulder holes, comes out to unlock the gate. By the smell of his breath, you assume that the shirt was a promotional item, and that Anheuser-Busch must be running the cheap-beer equivalent of the old Marlboro Miles program. Or, well, must have been ten years ago, based on the sweat stains. You try to look away, but damn, it's hard.

The man, who introduces himself as "Victor", takes off his baseball cap and wipes off his brow. "Damn, it's a hot day. You're here to check out the Rolls?"

You answer affirmatively, and he gives you a brief tour of his business while your business droops halfway to your knees from the humidity. You look over the car thoroughly but quickly, poking the quarter-panels and floorboards, and discover that the trunklid's stuck shut. You can always pry it open if you have to, so that's no big deal. A more encouraging sign comes when you learn that the engine isn't seized up. Well, that's a start. This might actually be doable.

Noting that he doesn't appear to be carrying a firearm, you offer him three grand for it. He shakes his head slowly, insisting that it's worth at least four in its present condition. A few minutes later, he's refused to budge below $3,700, but you're okay with that, and he invites you into a one-wheeled construction trailer for a beer. Ten minutes and a greasy handshake later (you swear you'll pull off at the first rest area to wash your hands) you're back on the road, the Rolls chained down to your scuffed-up Eager Beaver, singing along with the Possum, who you've turned up loud enough to cover the wind noise from the open windows, and the tire noise from the uneven road surface. In fact, if the rear slider wasn't open, you wouldn't've heard the blaring car horns behind you.

You glance in your trailering sideview mirror, wondering who in Hell would dare to drown out "If Drinkin' Don't Kill Me (Her Memory Will)", then slam on the brakes in shock, pulling the truck and trailer to the grooved shoulder.

Apparently all the trunk needed was a good thumping to release its contents: pounds, no, BALES of goddamn plastic-wrapped White Widow. Across four goddamn lanes of traffic.

Damn, you think. What a waste.

At least you have a good lawyer. Because you, my friend, are going to need it. But it won't be over that quickly - Victor's gonna want this shit back.

Man, and it was going so well, too.

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Then I read the article. Florida car. So I'm going with my gut on this one.

Stretched Rolls with hideous wheel covers gets the vote. Now put it back in the swamp.

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A Roller on the other hand, will make you want to dive in front of a moving train.

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The upside is that, in white, it will really class up your trailer when you park alongside, every day, alone.

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Lucas electrics? Check.

Third-party coachwork that involved cutting the car in half? Check.

Lives in Florida? Checkeroni.

Roller FTL.

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And by "prestige and good taste", I obviously mean "money".

Look, it's an undeniable fact that Mercedes-Benz cars automatically attract the ladies, but we're talking about an old Mercedes. Something that would look more appropriate with the flags of a small African nation on the fenders. That's just not going to attract the ladies as well as a new Benz, because most of said ladies will likely be afraid they'll end up in front of a firing squad made up of child soldiers if they don't, you know, perform just right. And trust me, years of, uh, research, have told me that fear and intimidation are not the best tactics to use when trying to pick up that girl spilling out of her top at a trendy martini bar. Man, that was a life-changing revelation... but that's a story for another time.

It's simple, really. Most of those buxom beauties are just college students (and/or dropouts) who are looking for a man who can help them manage to pay for both their rent and their meals in the same month. That means they're not going to be impressed by all of the advanced technology in the Benz. And Mercedes, in recent years, have become so fucking affordable that even Canadian bank managers can afford to buy one for their girlfriends, shortly before said girlfriend packs up the car while he's at a conference out of town and heads to her mom's house, only informing him when she sends him a text-message asking which exit leads to the highway back to her hometown.

But everyone knows a Rolls-Royce is an expensive car. And an old, classic Rolls? That's money, right there. That says that you're not one of those tacky nouveau-riche bastards who made a ton of money flipping a couple houses while the real estate market was booming. That indicates -- truthfully or not -- that you've been successful for long enough that you need not worry about this whole Financiapocalypse that's gripping backwater nations like Iceland, Britain and the United States.

And a Rolls-Royce limousine? That's opulent luxury, right there! Sure, you'll need to hire a chauffeur, but with so many people out of work, how hard could it be to find a former Microsoft employee who's struggling to make ends meet? Shit, he'd probably be willing to work for the price of a Big Mac just for the opportunity to work for a man who doesn't scream like a featured employee of World Wrestling Entertainment. Let's face it, you roll up in that Roller limo, and the massive chrome "look at me" grille is going to give those college drop-outs squishy pants before you can have "Jeeves" assist you from the back seat. Bouncers will be asking you to park in a prominent location out front, because a big classy beast like that will make their club look better -- even if you, in that terrible Saturday Night Fever suit, don't exactly add to the ambiance.

And, as an added benefit, once you choose which barely-clad beauty you'd like to have accompany you, you've got about two acres of space in the back half of the Rolls to explore creative ways of entertaining one another. And the Rolls suspension means nobody outside will suspect a thing.

Sure, it'll take a bit of work to get it looking beautiful again, but all those scars and callouses on your hands will just add to your mystique. Just keep telling yourself, the payoff will be worth it in the end. Just keep telling yourself that.

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Old Silver Shadows make running a Mercedes look cheap. Also, this is some sort of third-party limo conversion, with all the implied build-quality and body-rigidity questions. There are only two things to do with this: 1) Stuff in a Yankee drivetrain, give it a cheap paint-and-interior job, and hope you can recoup by renting it out for weddings; or, 2) Wait for the price to drop to $1000, buy it, and make it into the world's silliest hot rod. The Rolls gets my hell-vote.

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The Rolls looks like a patchwork quilt. Are those Buick hubcaps?!?

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