You really don’t need to title a post with a photo of the powerful Mach 5 gracing the screen. Words should escape you as they did when you were a kid. When I was 7 years old a greenhouse was where pansies grew pansies, while real men hung out in the garage and dreamed of owning a car that would put 5000 hp to the ground. Gas was what, a dime a gallon? It didn’t matter.
No one had heard of MPG, it was all MPH. And your dad was a race sponsor, your older brother had died racing and your little brother had a monkey named Chim Chim and the hot chick Trixie liked to hang out with you. Oh and all the evil people died at the bottoms of a bottomless ravines because their car didn’t jump and have little wings like yours. I liked being born in the early sixties and dreaming of a life just like Speed Racer’s.Tags: American Culture, Pure Drivel