Why the eternal flame keeps burning......

A Prius driving grad student asked me the other day why anyone "needs" a musclecar. I had to give him the answer that Harley riders have been giving for years-"If I have to explain, then you won't understand." "No, I want to understand,I have to understand, I'm writing an article for a psychology magazine."  He replied. "I'll do my best to help." I said. We sat down, and I talked and he took notes. "The first misconception is gender." I said. Stephen King said cars were all girls in his classic Horror novel "Christine" about a possesed '58 Plymouth Fury, and you see old farmers calling their truck "Betsy" and such." Cars being female may be cute for some people, but musclecars are all male. It's all about testosterone. And their not male in the good father-know-best kind of way, or the John Wayne, truth justice and the american way, no, their Jules from "Pulp Fiction". My I.D. says "Bad Mofo" on it, "I'm sorry Ringo, but this isn't the first time, some fool has challenged me to a fight." "I will strike down with great vengenance and furious anger anyone who threatens the righteous man who happens to be my driver." "Though I walk through the shadow of the valley of death, I fear no evil, for I am the meanest mother in the valley!" That's what a musclecar says. You can't drive one slow. The rumble of the exhaust, the Hurst shifter in your hand, feeling the power like a Rotweiler tugging on his leash, eager to run. Come on, you candy ass. It taunts. There's no men in blue around, open me up. Like the kid in "Christmas Story" it "Triple-Dog Dares" you. God help you if there's a pretender near-a BMW or Mercedes or Jap car that tries to pass you or looks at you disdainfully at a light. Like Denis Leary on cocaine-your subconcious taunts you-"You gonna take that shit?"  "You gonna let this arrogant yuppie scum disrespect us like that?" "Please trade me in for a Honda Civic, you pussy."  You have to put your right foot down, and then it's on. As the rest of society succumbs to political correctness and frontal lobe massaging and the ever-expanding limits of freedom of the nanny state, at the last stop before oblivion stands the archaic, throwback American Musclecar. The Camaro SS, the Boss 302 Mustang, the Hemi Challenger-and their brethren from the past that simply won't go away-stand Janus-faced, giving the finger to tweed-cap wearing,pipe-smoking, journalists and engineers that deride solid axles and pushrod V8s while singing the praise of front-and all-wheel drive, overhead cam technological wonders that can't touch the performance of an american musclecar at two or three times the price. And now their selling in record numbers. How did this happen? It happened back in the 1990's when every 40 or 50 year old stockbroker or dot.com rich guy decided that the one thing missing from his life was a badass American Musclecar. Didn't matter if he already had a Porsche or a Ferarri. He was up late one night watching Kowalski's last Ride in "Vanishing Point", or the chases in "Bullitt" or "Smokey and the Bandit" or "Two-Lane Blacktop" and decided then and there that he HAD to have a Challenger, or a Charger, or a Trans-Am, or a GTO or whatever, and he didn't care how much it cost. And his competitive buddies got in on it, and remembered their big brother's 'Cuda or Camaro or Mustang from high school, and decided if Bob so and so, could spend 40 grand on the 30 year old car of his dreams, then by God, so could they. And the renaissance caught on. And the automakers thought hey-"If horsepower makes that much money, let's rock and roll and bring back the '60s." "WE can promote Hybrids, and saving the planet, but these cars will sell themselves." Brock Yates said it about Harleys a few years ago, but it applies to musclecars as well-"If that rumble, that roar, that ultimate symbol of freedom and American brashness, that death threat to collectivism and political correctness ever goes away, then it will truly be time to turn out the lights in America." That's why the eternal flame of the Musclecar keeps burning. Mastermind