|Blogs > rm_VoodooGuru1 > Voodoo Must Die!|
E-Roc and I had met early that school year when I was sent away to his school to attend this program for krelboynes. We became fast friends, and not just because of our shared WASP sensibilities. We were a couple of dichotomous dudes; we were car guys - European car guys specifically - but we were also a couple punk rock kids into Black Flag, Ramones, DMs, dying our hair blue or scarlet (or both), and wearing eyeliner to formal events.
We had spent much of that summer on his project car - a fly yellow Triumph Spitfire. There was nothing wrong with the car when he bought it, E-Roc just wanted more power than the anemic four-cylinder could provide. I couldn’t blame him; a Spitfire is dead sexy and looks hella fast, but even the lowliest Nissan Sentra will beat it in a drag race.
The plan was to remove the little four-banger and stuff a Buick V-6 into the engine bay. This was a bad idea, a very bad idea that would end up costing E-Roc an assload of Keeblers... and the Spitfire as well. But neither of us knew that at the time.
Shortly after acquiring the V-6, E-Roc decided to take it across town to a guy he knew who would tune it up - put it in good working order. He and I lifted the engine (with great difficulty) into this big cart. The plan was to tie the cart to the bumper of his dad’s Bonneville; he would drive slow, and I would ride in the trunk (that’s boot if you speak limey) and yell if it looked like we were going to have a problem.
Surprisingly, everything worked according to plan. But on the way over, during the few moments I didn’t have my eyes on the cart/ropes/bumper, I noticed something about the trunk. And once we got there, I looked closer... yep, this trunk was the biggest fucking trunk I had ever seen!
It was huge! Super deep, tremendous height, and what’s a Bonneville, like, ten feet wide? You could lay down in any direction. On the ride back. I told E-Roc of my amazement and suggested that the next time he’s on a date, he should consider taking the trunk over the back seat.
Fade back to the present narrative... at the drive in.