Beginnings

Ahh, beginnings. Torn between the sheer unadulterated awesomeness of what we've embarked upon, and the monumental task which lies before us, I can only express my enthusiasm. Our chariot has been given form and substance. Behold the instrument of lesser vehicles' destruction:



No, not me or Eamon, but the herald of the apocalypse we accompany. This godly representation of our childhood ideals features such performance enhancers as:

1. A dead battery. (Push-starting is manly.)
2. No gauges. (Removed for weight reduction.)
3. An electric fan which the seller assures us will function if we "hook up these two wires."
4. Copious amounts of white smoke. (To keep our opponents from passing.)
5. A Chevy 305 with (if we're lucky) 185 horsepower.

Where is your god now?