For $1,200, This 1977 Pontiac Grand Prix Is Bad-Ass

Illustration for article titled For $1,200, This 1977 Pontiac Grand Prix Is Bad-Ass

The seller of today's Nice Price or Crack Pipe Pontiac says it's for 'Bad-Asses only.' It's up to you to decide if this '70s coupe's price is bad-ass as well.

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In light of multiple observations that, in Spanish, Pajero means a certain form of introspection - and a lot of hand lotion - yesterday's 1991 Mitsubishi Pajero couldn't overcome its own right-handedness and went down in a 61% Crack Pipe loss. Sadly for its owner, not a happy ending.

Today's seller obviously doesn't give a damn about endings, happy or otherwise, as he states very clearly that this 1977 Pontiac Grand Prix is for 'Bad-Asses only,' and makes it a point that Prius drivers, chardonnay-sippers, and dudes who want to talk about their feelings need not apply.

The ad shows the car whipping around in some gravel, throwing dust hither and yon which I guess is what bad-asses do. It also shows the car in its stationary form where, owing to its matte primer paint, it comes off looking like something that would be driven by the creepy uncle of the guy from Deathproof.

Illustration for article titled For $1,200, This 1977 Pontiac Grand Prix Is Bad-Ass

The ad notes that the paint is marred - I mean embellished with manliness - by dings and dents, and that the windshield is cracked from 'head banging too hard to Judas Priest.' If anyone is an expert on asses, bad or otherwise, it's Judas Priest lead singer, Rob Halford.

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Also turning up the testosterone, this Grand Prix is said to be a V8 with dual exhausts, and has mismatched wheels front and rear because badasses don't care if the carpet don't match the drapes - or something like that. The tranny is an automatic as these things always were slushers, and the odo reads 62K, which ain't all that much if you consider the 'tude this Pontiac wears like a permanent scowl of contempt for those who don't live by the code of badassitry.

Illustration for article titled For $1,200, This 1977 Pontiac Grand Prix Is Bad-Ass
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Nineteen seventy seven was the last year of the Reubenesque Grand Prix, and these cars tipped the scale at well over two tons. There were a few V8s offered that year, the 301 with 135-bhp, a 160-horse 350, and top of the heap, a 400-cid mill with 180 horses. California cars received different options, and even less power, due to their unique emissions standards. This one, by the way, has a grille from an earlier year so I don't know that it even is a '77, but who am I to question a bad-ass?

In fact, I think I'd rather put a question to all of you, as we're all good friends, right? That question is; do you think this bad-ass Pontiac is worth $1,200? That's the seller's asking, and he seems only interested in taking money if it has been won in a back alley game of dice, or is in fives and singles with the stripper's g-string still wadded up amongst the bills.

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Illustration for article titled For $1,200, This 1977 Pontiac Grand Prix Is Bad-Ass

What's your take on this Grand Prix and its funny ad, is it all enough to move the metal for the seller's hoped-for price? Do you think anyone should pay $1,200 for this Bad-Ass?

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You decide!

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Portland OR, Craigslist, or go here if the ad disappears.

H/T to Joe Day for the hookup!

Help me out with NPOCP. Click here to send a me a fixed-price tip, and remember to include your Kinja handle.

DISCUSSION

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Freddie ached everywhere, but his owner didn't let up, slewing his rear wheels again through the gravel parking lot behind the Circle K. "WOOOOOO!" his owner screamed. In a nearby backyard, a lady looked up from putting her laundry on the line, shook her head, and continued her work.

Freddie thought back to his glory days — when his then-owner would take him out cruising. The streetlights would make his scarlet skin shine and there was a steady rotation of Stevie Wonder, Led Zeppelin, and Doobie Brothers 8-tracks through his stereo. Then Joe got busted, he got sold to pay for the lawyer, then sold again...and again. His scarlet paint faded and was covered. A cheap aftermarket stereo, wires dangling under the dash, replaced the 8-track. One owner was going to replace his steelies with swanky alloys, but ran out of money.

And now here he was, with rust holes in his frame, dented, aching, and sliding sideways through the gravel.

But somewhere, deep inside, it didn't matter. The dents, the crappy paint, the aftermarket crap, his litany of broken, squeaky, leaking, aging parts.

Because Freddie was a badass. And only a badass could handle him.