George's First Kill

Jonny Valadez
February 13, 2012

George's first kill was yesterday. I knew the LT-1 had some major guts under that mile long hood, I mean it's got the Corvette heritage. So some chuckle head in a 2009ish jet black Honda Accord keeps in my blind spot coming home on Randall Road, four lanes, south/north artery here in the burbs, 45-55 MPH zones, endless same strip malls and open field areas.

I slow up, he slows up. I speed up, he ...speeds up. AWESOME, hes a douche nozzle that's mirroring my driving. Come to a red light. He pulls up, looks at me and the Buick, I'm pretty sure he was expecting a 80 year old retired man behind the wheel. He adjusted his safety belt, repositioned himself in the seat and from that I knew what he was doing. In his desperation of re-manning himself, after years of drinking beer, gaining a beer belly, losing his hair line, having children (the Cary Youth soccer ball was a give away) and in likely odds married his college sweetheart that is now getting nailed by the 20 year old pool boy, he wants to reclaim his position in life, alpha male.

Little did he know, since he never educated himself about anything outside of his bland mundane job of a major corporation that reflects something that was done in "Office Space", that this 32 year old man who has understood the basics of cars since he was about three and this big tan/gold tuna boat outfitted with white wall tires, a half landau top also had something he can only dream about while sleeping next to his pork chop wife, a V-8 power plant that was made and built by an American.

So here we go. I have never truly tested the ability of my Buick who I gave the name George from the first owners name. This is not my first rodeo, nor will be my last. I watched the other lights, knowing when to exactly put the hammer down and launch this big sow out of the gate. The Honda must have had traction control and he did not know how to turn it off, the engine rev'ed and he hardly went anywhere. My rear wheels squealed like a barking dog, hardly getting any traction. His Honda finally took off. He had me by a car length in the intersection AND then George got some traction when the posi rear axle knew what I wanted. Slammed me into the seat and BOOF, we where gone. I looked in my rear view, there were two tire stripes behind me and along with a black Honda. I was under the impression with Buicks "Grand Touring" suspension and rear air ride, this would hinder any type of proper launches but George proved me wrong.

It was nice handing over a Honda owners ass back to him. It was then I thanked God I never became a guy like the Honda owner, bland, boring, and all to common. I think I'm going to have a long and happy ownership experience with this new Buick. Me and George are what once America was, hard working, honest, long lived and native to America. We may be "old school" but we sure as hell still kick Socialist ass!