superbuickguy
Explorer
what year? or more directly, serpentine or not?
The Wanderers build
- Thread starter superbuickguy
- Start date
superbuickguy
Explorer
I'll look - I may actually have it. At one point I had several of those motors and I still have a lot of parts kicking about... which bracket do you need?
bknudtsen
Expedition Leader
Thx. It's the power steering pump bracket. Has 4 mounting tabs. After I replied above, I went out to look again and found one bolt was missing. Replaced that and it seems to be solid again despite being cracked. I'm just trying to keep it running until I figure out what engine to swap into it.
superbuickguy
Explorer
I can easily weld it
superbuickguy
Explorer
well now that's interesting - the HX35 turbo bolts onto the 6.5 exhaust manifold and the outlet lines up with the 6.5's turbo manifold.... Houston, I think we have a solution for the turbo issue 
superbuickguy
Explorer
yep
superbuickguy
Explorer
if you want to turbo yours, I'll make you a heck of a deal on the ATS system.... even show you how to make the turbo brand new
superbuickguy
Explorer
you should... then you can see this in person
Picture
​
I think even I can get that joint to hook up
Picture
​
I think even I can get that joint to hook up
superbuickguy
Explorer
THE WANDERERS #32
BUSTED!
By Rick Sieman
We join them now as they lumber along in a northerly direction on Interstate 25 in Northern New Mexico, heading for the Colorado state line. As per standard practice, Carl kept the cruise control on The Whale set at exactly two miles per hour over the speed limit.
Emma was sitting in the spacious passenger captains chair, knitting a purple scarf with a yellow reindeer on it.
“Carl, why do you insist on always breaking the speed limit? When it says 55, you’re doing 57. And when it says 65, you’re doing 67. Aren’t you afraid of getting a ticket, or maybe getting taken off to jail?”
Carl laughed loudly and bit off a plug of tobacco. “Hawwh! Vi therrrssh novay inni khoppg ith ghonna...”
“Carl, will you please quite trying to eat a hamburger and chew tobacco at the same time. I simply cannot understand a word you’re saying!”
Carl emitted a loud “gulp” as he somehow managed to swallow the remnants of the burger without ingesting any of the huge wad of chew. “Scuse me dear. I was sayin’ that there’s no way a cop is gonna give a ticket to someone going two miles an hour over the speed limit. Not even the nastiest state trooper in the business is chicken enough to do that. You just gotta know how to bend the rules enough to slide on by, and another thing...”
Carl was interrupted by the sound of a siren. A quick glance to his left showed a flashing red light in his rear-view mirror. A moment later, a patrol car pulled up alongside The Whale and gave a “pull-over” gesture to Carl.
Emma blanched when Carl let out a string of vile Navy curses that would melt most common household plastics and would more than likely scorch microwave-safe dishware on the edges.
A squeal came from Emma. “Carl! What are we going to do? I don’t want to go to prison. I told you we shouldn’t speed. Oooooohhh noooooo!
Carl let out an evil laugh. “Calm down woman. This highway patrol geek doesn’t know that he’s up against a savvy ex-Navy Chief Petty Officer. The state line for Colorado is only two miles away. Once I pass over that line, that chump has no au¬thority whatsoever. I’m just going to play it cool and pretend I haven’t noticed him. Before we know it, I’ll be across the line and flipping that guy a bird or three. Hot damn and buenos howdy, am I cool or what?”
Carl stared directly ahead and started whistling the theme from Bridge Over The River Kwai as loud as he could. The patrol car pulled real close to The Whale, and the glare from the gumball machine lights on the top flickered off Carl’s sweaty fore¬head.
Carl snapped his fingers in tune with his whistling and com¬pletely ignored the patrol car only inches from his door.
The officer lost patience and pulled up in front of The Whale, with every light on his patrol car blinking madly. Carl thought it looked a great deal like a pinball machine on wheels.
In order to fake out the officer, Carl reached down and pre¬tended to fiddle with the dials on the radio.
The officer responded by hitting his brakes and slowing down. Carl leaned out the window, shook his fist, and yelled, “Tourist!”
Then he whipped over two lanes and passed the patrol car and settled back to his cruising speed. The patrol car gassed it hard and pulled up alongside once again, with angry gestures very visible from the interior of the patrol car.
Carl responded by sipping on a Yoo Hoo Chocolate Soda with his head tilted way back.
The patrol car slipped in front of The Whale again, and a large arm came out of the window and gestured unmistakably for Carl to pull over.
Carl glanced up ad saw the Colorado state line sign less than 200 yards up ahead, and did the first thing that came to his mind.
He hit the nitrous button!
The Whale responded by lighting off the rear tires like a top¬-fueler! With a 35 pound jug of nitrous oxide residing in the back, and the plumbing running up to the intake manifold, the already powerful stroked 454 engine, which normally put out a crisp 500 horsepower, suddenly produced 800 big ones.
Carl’s shoulders were pinned back against the plush captain’s chair and the speedo swung wildly from left to right. The Whale literally ripped past the patrol car with the front wheels pawing in the air. Carl let out a whoop as he passed the state line into Colorado.
“Hah! Guess I taught that chump a lesson or three. We’re home free, Emma.”
Emma sat huddled in the far right hand corner of The Whale, trembling. “We’re gonna die! Duck before they shoot you, Carl.”
“Don’t talk crazy, woman! We just passed the state line and there’s no cop goofy enough to shoot at you for a traffic ticket.”
A micro-second later, the lower left hand corner of the wind¬shield blew out as a slug ripped through the glass.
Emma started praying loudly and Carl slammed the throttle to the floorboard and quickly left the patrol car behind. Within a few minutes, the pursuing patrol car was out of sight and Carl breathed a sigh of relief. “Man, I’m glad we got free of that looney-tune cop. Now we’re in a civilized state and we can relax.”
Less than a heartbeat later, A different highway patrol car pulled alongside The Whale, with the passenger side window rolled down. The officer behind the wheel had a rather large and obnox¬ious handgun pointed more or less in the general direction of Carl’s head.
The hammer was cocked back.
Carl might have been a headstrong and opinionated man, but he was not completely off-center when it came to basic common sense.
He pulled over to the side and put The Whale into park.
The Colorado trooper got out and walked over. “You are under arrest, sir.”
Carl bristled. “No way! I just crossed the line from New Mexico into this fine state. What makes you think you can arrest me for a violation in New Mexico?”
The patrolman scratched his chin thoughtfully, his eyes im¬penetrable behind huge mirrored sun-glasses, and smiled: “My name is Burfel. Officer Burfel. Howard Burfel. My brother is also named Burfel. Harold Burfel. And he’s a highway patrolman in New Mexico. We live in a house that straddles the state line. You, sir, have irritated my brother by violating certain state laws that he holds dear to his heart. Being his brother, I certainly should back him up whenever necessary. In fact, here he is now. Perhaps you would like to explain to him why you did not heed his warnings and stop before the state line?”
Carl looked back, as the New Mexico highway patrol car pulled up neatly alongside the Colorado patrol car.
Jeez! Why did we have to run into the Burfel brothers, he thought?
***
Why, indeed? What will happen to Carl and Emma? Will they rot in jail? I don’t know about you, but my stomach is doing two-and-a-half-gainers at this point. What will happen next month? Who knows?
BUSTED!
By Rick Sieman
We join them now as they lumber along in a northerly direction on Interstate 25 in Northern New Mexico, heading for the Colorado state line. As per standard practice, Carl kept the cruise control on The Whale set at exactly two miles per hour over the speed limit.
Emma was sitting in the spacious passenger captains chair, knitting a purple scarf with a yellow reindeer on it.
“Carl, why do you insist on always breaking the speed limit? When it says 55, you’re doing 57. And when it says 65, you’re doing 67. Aren’t you afraid of getting a ticket, or maybe getting taken off to jail?”
Carl laughed loudly and bit off a plug of tobacco. “Hawwh! Vi therrrssh novay inni khoppg ith ghonna...”
“Carl, will you please quite trying to eat a hamburger and chew tobacco at the same time. I simply cannot understand a word you’re saying!”
Carl emitted a loud “gulp” as he somehow managed to swallow the remnants of the burger without ingesting any of the huge wad of chew. “Scuse me dear. I was sayin’ that there’s no way a cop is gonna give a ticket to someone going two miles an hour over the speed limit. Not even the nastiest state trooper in the business is chicken enough to do that. You just gotta know how to bend the rules enough to slide on by, and another thing...”
Carl was interrupted by the sound of a siren. A quick glance to his left showed a flashing red light in his rear-view mirror. A moment later, a patrol car pulled up alongside The Whale and gave a “pull-over” gesture to Carl.
Emma blanched when Carl let out a string of vile Navy curses that would melt most common household plastics and would more than likely scorch microwave-safe dishware on the edges.
A squeal came from Emma. “Carl! What are we going to do? I don’t want to go to prison. I told you we shouldn’t speed. Oooooohhh noooooo!
Carl let out an evil laugh. “Calm down woman. This highway patrol geek doesn’t know that he’s up against a savvy ex-Navy Chief Petty Officer. The state line for Colorado is only two miles away. Once I pass over that line, that chump has no au¬thority whatsoever. I’m just going to play it cool and pretend I haven’t noticed him. Before we know it, I’ll be across the line and flipping that guy a bird or three. Hot damn and buenos howdy, am I cool or what?”
Carl stared directly ahead and started whistling the theme from Bridge Over The River Kwai as loud as he could. The patrol car pulled real close to The Whale, and the glare from the gumball machine lights on the top flickered off Carl’s sweaty fore¬head.
Carl snapped his fingers in tune with his whistling and com¬pletely ignored the patrol car only inches from his door.
The officer lost patience and pulled up in front of The Whale, with every light on his patrol car blinking madly. Carl thought it looked a great deal like a pinball machine on wheels.
In order to fake out the officer, Carl reached down and pre¬tended to fiddle with the dials on the radio.
The officer responded by hitting his brakes and slowing down. Carl leaned out the window, shook his fist, and yelled, “Tourist!”
Then he whipped over two lanes and passed the patrol car and settled back to his cruising speed. The patrol car gassed it hard and pulled up alongside once again, with angry gestures very visible from the interior of the patrol car.
Carl responded by sipping on a Yoo Hoo Chocolate Soda with his head tilted way back.
The patrol car slipped in front of The Whale again, and a large arm came out of the window and gestured unmistakably for Carl to pull over.
Carl glanced up ad saw the Colorado state line sign less than 200 yards up ahead, and did the first thing that came to his mind.
He hit the nitrous button!
The Whale responded by lighting off the rear tires like a top¬-fueler! With a 35 pound jug of nitrous oxide residing in the back, and the plumbing running up to the intake manifold, the already powerful stroked 454 engine, which normally put out a crisp 500 horsepower, suddenly produced 800 big ones.
Carl’s shoulders were pinned back against the plush captain’s chair and the speedo swung wildly from left to right. The Whale literally ripped past the patrol car with the front wheels pawing in the air. Carl let out a whoop as he passed the state line into Colorado.
“Hah! Guess I taught that chump a lesson or three. We’re home free, Emma.”
Emma sat huddled in the far right hand corner of The Whale, trembling. “We’re gonna die! Duck before they shoot you, Carl.”
“Don’t talk crazy, woman! We just passed the state line and there’s no cop goofy enough to shoot at you for a traffic ticket.”
A micro-second later, the lower left hand corner of the wind¬shield blew out as a slug ripped through the glass.
Emma started praying loudly and Carl slammed the throttle to the floorboard and quickly left the patrol car behind. Within a few minutes, the pursuing patrol car was out of sight and Carl breathed a sigh of relief. “Man, I’m glad we got free of that looney-tune cop. Now we’re in a civilized state and we can relax.”
Less than a heartbeat later, A different highway patrol car pulled alongside The Whale, with the passenger side window rolled down. The officer behind the wheel had a rather large and obnox¬ious handgun pointed more or less in the general direction of Carl’s head.
The hammer was cocked back.
Carl might have been a headstrong and opinionated man, but he was not completely off-center when it came to basic common sense.
He pulled over to the side and put The Whale into park.
The Colorado trooper got out and walked over. “You are under arrest, sir.”
Carl bristled. “No way! I just crossed the line from New Mexico into this fine state. What makes you think you can arrest me for a violation in New Mexico?”
The patrolman scratched his chin thoughtfully, his eyes im¬penetrable behind huge mirrored sun-glasses, and smiled: “My name is Burfel. Officer Burfel. Howard Burfel. My brother is also named Burfel. Harold Burfel. And he’s a highway patrolman in New Mexico. We live in a house that straddles the state line. You, sir, have irritated my brother by violating certain state laws that he holds dear to his heart. Being his brother, I certainly should back him up whenever necessary. In fact, here he is now. Perhaps you would like to explain to him why you did not heed his warnings and stop before the state line?”
Carl looked back, as the New Mexico highway patrol car pulled up neatly alongside the Colorado patrol car.
Jeez! Why did we have to run into the Burfel brothers, he thought?
***
Why, indeed? What will happen to Carl and Emma? Will they rot in jail? I don’t know about you, but my stomach is doing two-and-a-half-gainers at this point. What will happen next month? Who knows?
superbuickguy
Explorer
THE WANDERERS #33
BUSTED – PART II
By Rick Sieman
When we last left them, Carl had just out-run a New Mexico state Highway Patrol car across the border into Colorado by hitting the nitrous oxide bottle on The Whale. Emma, of course, was in a state of panic and thought that the cop would shoot at them. Carl laughed at the idea, and about two seconds later, the lower left hand corner of the windshield was blown out by a bullet.
When Carl crossed the state line, he breathed a sigh of relief at having escaped the loony cop who thought he was Dirty Harry, only to have another highway patrol car pull up alongside and point a huge pistol right at him.
Naturally, Carl pulled over, and found out, much to his con¬sternation, that he had just been stopped by one of the Burfel brothers, a Colorado state trooper named Howard Burfel. Moments later, his brother, Harold Burfel - a New Mexico state trooper - pulled up and slid his car to a sideways halt, with his long radio antenna whipping around wildly.
***
We join them now as Harold Burfel (New Mexico) gets out of his car and lumbers over. Lumber is the only way to describe the motion, because Harold hits the scales at about 390 pounds and looks like he could be in the main event at most any WWF wres¬tling match.
What is even more astonishing is the fact that Harold is the smaller of the two brothers, with Howard (Colorado) weighing a solid 50 pounds heavier. Both men are wearing huge mirrored sunglasses. Two nearly identical handlebar mustaches decorate very similar faces. And both of those faces are sport¬ing some serious scowls; cheeks are bright red and large blue veins are throbbing in their temples. Not a pretty picture.
Emma gasped. “What are we gonna do, Carl? Those two guys look like they bite the heads off chickens just for fun.
Carl let out a thin smile. “Just let me handle this situa¬tion. You can’t let ‘em scare you. I’ll be firm, but polite. Now, stand back, woman.”
Carl squared his shoulders and took a deep breath. “All-right, what do you two clowns think you’re doing, what with blowin’ out my windshield and all?”
The Burfel brothers recoiled back, as if a bag full of snakes has just been tossed into their more than ample laps. Howard (Colorado), the biggest one, recovered and poked a stubby finger the size of a cucumber in Carl’s face: “What did you just say, sir?”
Without missing a beat, Carl responded: “Whattsamatter, you got too much wax in your ears... or don’t they teach the English language in the second grade here?”
Howard, the smaller cop, removed his sunglasses, revealing squinty-little eyes perched under fat eyelids, and got right up next to his brother. “Buddy, are you nuts or something? Where does a little guy like you get the nerve to insult two officers of the law who probably weigh more than that dumb Chevy truck you’re driving?”
The color in Carls face went up a notch or two higher; in the background, Emma whimpered pitifully. Carl did not back off. “Listen, Bozo and Bozo, Jr. When I was in the Navy, I kicked the butt of guys that made you two look like Tinker Bell. And what’s more, you damn well better watch your comments about my Suburban. You two sound like a couple of Ford-freaks, and if that’s the case, you probably had your mental pilot blown out years ago, and you double-damn well should seek some professional help on a couch somewhere.”
Both of the Burfel brothers started stammering and their nos¬trils flared; a small puff of what looks like steam exited How¬ard’s (the big one) nose. Emma blanched and feared the worst. Will Carl learn enough to shut up?
No!!!
“Hey, Fat Boy... you with the steam comin’ out of your nose. Cat got your tongue, or is your memory span smaller than a gnats butt? I’m gonna repeat my question real nice and slow so even you chumps can understand it... and I won’t use any big words that might confuse you. Now there, Howard, why did you shoot my windshield out?”
Harold appears confused. “Well, actually my name is Harold, not Howard, and I ...“
Carl snarls: “Harold, Howard, what’s the difference? You two pinheads have violated my 1st, 5th, 6th, 12th, 21st and 33rd Amendments, as well habeas corpus, ipso-facto, deposition, inter¬rogatory, declarations and ph-balance. Not to mention the fact that procedures have been improperly forniscued, illegal entry, search and seizure violations and flagrant incommunicado depreca¬tions have been duly noted. Now, let’s have some names and badge numbers and make it snappy!”
Both Burfel brothers appear confused and look sheepish. “Uhh, well, uhh, that is... I mean ... that is...”
Carl exploded! “Stand up straight there, you two! Chest out, stomachs in... all six of ‘em. Did you two ever spend any time in the military, or did you get your slop-jar appearance and attitude in the Cub Scouts? Well? Speak up!”
Howard, the big one, quietly spoke: “Uh, we was both in the Marines, sir.”
Carl stood up on his tippy-toes, ram-rod straight, and barked. “Just as I thought. A couple of half-trained jar-heads. No wonder you two can’t even handle a simple traffic matter without screwing it up big time. Listen, jarheads, I was a Navy Chief Petty Officer for 28 years and six months before I took over this position as National Interstate Highway Cop Inspector.”
With that, Carl flipped open his wallet and poked it into the faces of Harold and Howard. Both men started trembling.
Carl kept on the attack. “Now, do I drag you two incompetent geeks into National Interstate Court, or do you cough up a quick two hundred bucks each for my damaged windshield, and I let you go on your way with a warning, because you’re so stupid? Well, act quick, or I start takin’ names an kickin’ butt?”
Harold and Howard nearly got friction burns as they whipped their wallets out and peeled off the 20s.
Carl folded up the money, then bellowed: “Now, get your lard-butts out of my sight, double-time quick, before I gag. Hup-two¬-three-f our, hup-two-three-four.”
The Burfel brothers emitted a double trail of smoke from their squad cars as they burned rubber away in opposite directions.
Emma turned to Carl with a puzzled look on her face. “How did you know... I mean whatever gave you the idea that you could intimidate those two goons?”
A big smile covered Carl’s face. “Easy. I looked at the tattoos they both had on their forearms. They both had that bird sittin’ on an orange insignia, and U.S.M.C. underneath. But the real giveaway was that it read U.S.M.C. RESERVE! Those weenies never stood a chance against a real pro. So I just made up that phony agency name and flashed my Cal 4WD membership card at ‘em, and that was enough to do the job.
“Now let’s get on down the road, woman. I can get a new used windshield in Denver for about $140 bucks installed, and we’ll use the rest to buy some beef jerky, a jug of wine, and check into a Motel six with one of those 25 cent vibrating beds.”
Emma positively glowed. “Oh Carl! You’re so brave.., and such a romantic, too.”
“Hey, I’m a wanderin’ kind of guy.”
BUSTED – PART II
By Rick Sieman
When we last left them, Carl had just out-run a New Mexico state Highway Patrol car across the border into Colorado by hitting the nitrous oxide bottle on The Whale. Emma, of course, was in a state of panic and thought that the cop would shoot at them. Carl laughed at the idea, and about two seconds later, the lower left hand corner of the windshield was blown out by a bullet.
When Carl crossed the state line, he breathed a sigh of relief at having escaped the loony cop who thought he was Dirty Harry, only to have another highway patrol car pull up alongside and point a huge pistol right at him.
Naturally, Carl pulled over, and found out, much to his con¬sternation, that he had just been stopped by one of the Burfel brothers, a Colorado state trooper named Howard Burfel. Moments later, his brother, Harold Burfel - a New Mexico state trooper - pulled up and slid his car to a sideways halt, with his long radio antenna whipping around wildly.
***
We join them now as Harold Burfel (New Mexico) gets out of his car and lumbers over. Lumber is the only way to describe the motion, because Harold hits the scales at about 390 pounds and looks like he could be in the main event at most any WWF wres¬tling match.
What is even more astonishing is the fact that Harold is the smaller of the two brothers, with Howard (Colorado) weighing a solid 50 pounds heavier. Both men are wearing huge mirrored sunglasses. Two nearly identical handlebar mustaches decorate very similar faces. And both of those faces are sport¬ing some serious scowls; cheeks are bright red and large blue veins are throbbing in their temples. Not a pretty picture.
Emma gasped. “What are we gonna do, Carl? Those two guys look like they bite the heads off chickens just for fun.
Carl let out a thin smile. “Just let me handle this situa¬tion. You can’t let ‘em scare you. I’ll be firm, but polite. Now, stand back, woman.”
Carl squared his shoulders and took a deep breath. “All-right, what do you two clowns think you’re doing, what with blowin’ out my windshield and all?”
The Burfel brothers recoiled back, as if a bag full of snakes has just been tossed into their more than ample laps. Howard (Colorado), the biggest one, recovered and poked a stubby finger the size of a cucumber in Carl’s face: “What did you just say, sir?”
Without missing a beat, Carl responded: “Whattsamatter, you got too much wax in your ears... or don’t they teach the English language in the second grade here?”
Howard, the smaller cop, removed his sunglasses, revealing squinty-little eyes perched under fat eyelids, and got right up next to his brother. “Buddy, are you nuts or something? Where does a little guy like you get the nerve to insult two officers of the law who probably weigh more than that dumb Chevy truck you’re driving?”
The color in Carls face went up a notch or two higher; in the background, Emma whimpered pitifully. Carl did not back off. “Listen, Bozo and Bozo, Jr. When I was in the Navy, I kicked the butt of guys that made you two look like Tinker Bell. And what’s more, you damn well better watch your comments about my Suburban. You two sound like a couple of Ford-freaks, and if that’s the case, you probably had your mental pilot blown out years ago, and you double-damn well should seek some professional help on a couch somewhere.”
Both of the Burfel brothers started stammering and their nos¬trils flared; a small puff of what looks like steam exited How¬ard’s (the big one) nose. Emma blanched and feared the worst. Will Carl learn enough to shut up?
No!!!
“Hey, Fat Boy... you with the steam comin’ out of your nose. Cat got your tongue, or is your memory span smaller than a gnats butt? I’m gonna repeat my question real nice and slow so even you chumps can understand it... and I won’t use any big words that might confuse you. Now there, Howard, why did you shoot my windshield out?”
Harold appears confused. “Well, actually my name is Harold, not Howard, and I ...“
Carl snarls: “Harold, Howard, what’s the difference? You two pinheads have violated my 1st, 5th, 6th, 12th, 21st and 33rd Amendments, as well habeas corpus, ipso-facto, deposition, inter¬rogatory, declarations and ph-balance. Not to mention the fact that procedures have been improperly forniscued, illegal entry, search and seizure violations and flagrant incommunicado depreca¬tions have been duly noted. Now, let’s have some names and badge numbers and make it snappy!”
Both Burfel brothers appear confused and look sheepish. “Uhh, well, uhh, that is... I mean ... that is...”
Carl exploded! “Stand up straight there, you two! Chest out, stomachs in... all six of ‘em. Did you two ever spend any time in the military, or did you get your slop-jar appearance and attitude in the Cub Scouts? Well? Speak up!”
Howard, the big one, quietly spoke: “Uh, we was both in the Marines, sir.”
Carl stood up on his tippy-toes, ram-rod straight, and barked. “Just as I thought. A couple of half-trained jar-heads. No wonder you two can’t even handle a simple traffic matter without screwing it up big time. Listen, jarheads, I was a Navy Chief Petty Officer for 28 years and six months before I took over this position as National Interstate Highway Cop Inspector.”
With that, Carl flipped open his wallet and poked it into the faces of Harold and Howard. Both men started trembling.
Carl kept on the attack. “Now, do I drag you two incompetent geeks into National Interstate Court, or do you cough up a quick two hundred bucks each for my damaged windshield, and I let you go on your way with a warning, because you’re so stupid? Well, act quick, or I start takin’ names an kickin’ butt?”
Harold and Howard nearly got friction burns as they whipped their wallets out and peeled off the 20s.
Carl folded up the money, then bellowed: “Now, get your lard-butts out of my sight, double-time quick, before I gag. Hup-two¬-three-f our, hup-two-three-four.”
The Burfel brothers emitted a double trail of smoke from their squad cars as they burned rubber away in opposite directions.
Emma turned to Carl with a puzzled look on her face. “How did you know... I mean whatever gave you the idea that you could intimidate those two goons?”
A big smile covered Carl’s face. “Easy. I looked at the tattoos they both had on their forearms. They both had that bird sittin’ on an orange insignia, and U.S.M.C. underneath. But the real giveaway was that it read U.S.M.C. RESERVE! Those weenies never stood a chance against a real pro. So I just made up that phony agency name and flashed my Cal 4WD membership card at ‘em, and that was enough to do the job.
“Now let’s get on down the road, woman. I can get a new used windshield in Denver for about $140 bucks installed, and we’ll use the rest to buy some beef jerky, a jug of wine, and check into a Motel six with one of those 25 cent vibrating beds.”
Emma positively glowed. “Oh Carl! You’re so brave.., and such a romantic, too.”
“Hey, I’m a wanderin’ kind of guy.”