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He had gigantic chrome fog lights that made you think a locomotive had pulled up behind you in the dark, leather seats like something Churchill might chill in, a horn that played "Dixie," and wheels that cost more each than my first two cars combined. It was pussy one of the more ridiculous things I'd ever seen. And he couldn't make the payments on it. Finally, after a lot of soul-searching, he put it up for sale. It was a difficult decision, but it had to be done. Unfortunately, the people who could afford it had better taste than pussy to own such a ludicrous vehicle, and the people who drooled over it couldn't even afford the lighted whip antennae on its roof. He began to panic. Eventually I was forced to sit and read the newspaper and pretend I wasn't hearing the plans he was concocting with a shady character who is almost certainly dead or in prison today.
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