Turning 21 can mean big changes — new opportunities, more respect and the chance to strike out on your own. But as Nice Price or Crack Pipe knows, sometimes it can be hard to spread your wings.
Yesterday, you zombie-loving prom-goers gave the Pinzgauer a twenty-one Nice Price salute, with a solid 68% of you voting it prom queen. Today, we've going to ogle a 21 year-old, and she's a beauty too. But do you have what it takes to do her right?
With the Pontiac brand being yet another celebrity to shuffle off this mortal coil, dealers are beginning to sell off old stock. Most of the spawn of the Indian Chief honorific that you'll find standing on the lots are ‘09s or even a few dusty ‘08s, but it's unlikely you'll come across something old enough not to need a fake ID. Hinton Motors, in Lynden Washington, has been sitting on just such a sweet twenty-one year old, and not only is she of legal age, but is rocking the short skirts and some killer curves. She's got an athletic build, is probably good at sports, and her parent's must have been hippies, because they named her Fiero.
Now, by 1988 Pontiac was over the notion that the Fiero was a commuter car, and had gotten around to fixing many of the things that were wrong with the little two-seater. The craptacular suspension of the previous years was replaced with a racing-honed version that finally had proper geometry, and the rock-solid 2.8 liter pushrod V6 pumped out a healthy-for-the-time 140bhp, 42 more than the Iron Duke in the base models. New disk brakes and revised armstrong power steering also add to the desirability of this last-year for the American mid-enginer.
There's a lot of '88 Fieros running around, what with over 26,000 built that year, but this one is different. What this car has been doing the past 21 years is a mystery, but we can tell what it wasn't doing was racking up the miles - there's only 221 on the clock. It's possible that, like many a young lass, her parents kept her in a convent or stuffy boarding school during those formative years, meaning that, now of legal age, she's ready to break free and cut loose. And you could be the one to help her out of her shell.
Of course, putting miles on a 21 year-old, 221 mile car is like taking a dump in a Ming Dynasty vase- sure you can do it, but it wreaks havoc on the resale value. So, the best thing would be to find a warm, dry spot in the garage, and make her comfortable. Every now and then go out and tell her she looks nice, and no, that spoiler doesn't make her butt look too big.
Eventually, as seals shrivel, and fluids dry up, she'll grow old, tired, and incontinent. 21 will turn to 30, and then, before you know it, 45, and she'll wonder where her life has gone. She'll pine for the freedom of the open road that, for so long, has been denied her, and will lament that she never met the right person who loved her for what she was deep down inside- a fun-loving sportscar- rather than people who only were attracted to her for her looks. Sure, she still has had only a few cranks on the odo, but there's more to life than what those numbers exemplify, and now, tires rock-hard, and ball-joints frozen, all that has passed her by. There she sits, under the incessant hum of the cold, unflattering florescent garage lights, only occasionally allowed out to stretch her legs, but never for more than a day, and then back to the dark confines of her cage, and under the smothering blindfold of her tight, confining car cover. It's not the life she had imagined for herself. Or would ever wish on even her worst enemy.
It doesn't have to be that way. $40,000 is a lot of Clamato for a twenty one year old, but not if you are in it for the long haul. This is a unique opportunity, a time capsule to make up for past mistakes, a chance to catch that one that got away. Pontiac got the Fiero right by '88, and then condemned her to the ignominy of spending the rest of her life possibly wearing poor-fitting, faux Italian fashions, or worse, and eventually a slow, painful death of junkyard violations and her plastic body warped and faded by the unrelenting sun.
But you can make her an honest woman, and give her everything she needs for a life filled with joy- an open road, a heavy right foot, and the promise always to take care of her, miles be damned. Are you ready for that kind of commitment? The challenge of a life together seems daunting, she comes from a broken home after all. But even more intimidating is that dowry - forty-large. Do you think that's a Nice Price for a life of highway hijinks with such a lithe, pretty young thing? Or do you think she's smoking the Crack Pipe if she thinks she can get you to the church for that kind of scratch?
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