1964 Pontiac GTO

   
   "1964 Pontiac GTO"
   
   Considered by many to be the first massively-produced muscle car, the 1964 Pontiac GTO (Gran Turismo Omologata) was and is--a ghostly myth of muscle, yet it royally resonates with real and regal speed reality.  And no disrespect to the 1957 Chevy--that is more of a classic though.
   
Standard Engine:  389 cubic inches.

Horsepower:  325.

Torque:  428 lb-ft.

0-60:  An approximate 7 seconds.

Quarter Mile:  Near 100 miles-per-hour.

   But what nobody understands concerning the eight cylinder motor is:  the potent performance concerning wending your way up the geography of high asphalt hills.  When that four barrel of old opens up, it simply pulls you to the top, way beyond the turbo-charged six or four cylinder motors of today, sucking up all that extra power, yet without the "Great Eight" number of cylinders, there is a lack of muscularity and stable performance; nonetheless, with today's mercurial six and four cylinders, things remain relative, and ya never know.  As the villainous Max said in Schwarzenegger's movie RAW DEAL:  "Depends on the driver."    

Full Harvest Moon: September 16, 2016

   
   "Full Harvest Moon:  September 16, 2016"
   
   The Full Harvest Moon is the most brilliant reflection of the Moon mirroring the Sun (it can be argued); plus, closest to the autmnal equinox.  This large-seeming glimpse of nighttime Luna offered illumination to farmers in the old days, giving them the light necessary to reap the rewards of their crops; thus, it is truly harvest time.
   Maybe appearing a bit orange, which signifies abundance and prosperity--heck, it's gotta be true, for an approximate week before the Full Harvest Moon waxes to completion, the Big Orange will take to Terra's turf and engage Virginia Tech in a grindhouse game, where the Bristol Motor Speedway has purchased a super-plethora of beer for the myriads in attendance.  And is not beer John Barleycorn resurrected in every glass, bottle, or cup?  Don't drink it through a straw dudes.
   Too, armed with such effulgent luminosity, the Full Harvest Moon gives werewolves a little extra burst of mystical power.  Supposedly, they can run near 70 miles-per-hour during such a dazzling ignition of Luna; therefore, if you're being chased by a Lycanthrope in your car, you may want to crank it up to eighty, hoping you have an 8 Cylinder, or a turbo-charged 6 or 4 cylinder.
   

Truck-Driving & King David

   
   "Truck-Driving & King David"
   
   Being a voyager, or even worse--a freaking pilot of an automobile making the attempt to transcend an eighteen-wheeler is strictly intense; thus, get a muscle car, or pass with as much macho muster available; next, hug the outer, surrounding line, and be on your merry way.
   Or you can hug a truck.  Get behind the eighteen-wheeler and do the turtle dance of a mere seventy miles-per-hour; specifically, you'll make innocent and decent time.  But with navigation systems speaking robotically to us, doing all the thinking, shit--this is trans-humanism.  But what the freaking hell.  Plug it into the brain--in the next score of years; then:  downloading Ivy League Education, approximately twelve minute.  Moreover:  downloading Bush League Education, an estimated thirty seconds; plus, you get to drink and carnally engage sorority sisters in the virtual sludge match.  It's cool though.  
   We disintegrate our heroes--slay them actually; then, we build new models, yet your iPhone 5 still dreams lest you demolish its technological wizardry.
   But of King David--and a bard on the CB Radio would he be, back in the SMOKEY AND THE BANDIT days, outpacing a singular, monstrous gravity-sucking eighteen-wheeler with vociferous verse and the pure energy of a Holy Spirit, dictating:  (PSALMS 31:24)  "Be of good courage, and He shall strengthen your heart, all ye that hope in the Lord."
   And I still wish Jack Burton was driving . . .   

Mystic McDonald's

   
   "Mystic McDonald's"
   
   Splintered by rapid disease encompassing around, I find no total solace, yet peculiar frequencies occasionally vibrate with sublime sound.  And at Mickey D's do I always find things that sincerely amaze me.  Yes, like a contestant on WHEEL OF FORTUNE--I am fascinated by simple, shiny things.  And we all have "Bankrupt" and "Lose a Turn" on our spinning wheels of perpetuity.  
   So alone, as always, or possibly not, because nobody can see my friends--I notice the old and withered; plus, the Mexican workers covered in green grass and labor-like dirt, but what caught my eye today, during my omnivorous involvement with a Big Mac, was:  an older, completely bald man, with wire-rimmed glasses, walking with an unstable gait, simply ordering a coffee; next, taking a seat in front of me, shaking as he drank his hot beverage; furthermore, hands clicking on the table; specifically, he was not neuro-typical.  Are you neuro-typical?  Just a go-getter with no demonic villains attempting to slay you since birth?  
   Regardless, I prayed for him.  To have the Energy of God, Multi-Hued, Surrounding--and that he may be reminded upon his next entrance of these magical marvels.  Maybe he too will not be alone, making friends with the Angels and Saints--them always pointing to the Trinity.  
   God Bless McDonald's.  Quiet, quick, and for some reason--easy on my bowels, what the hell--I like it.     

Tex-Mex Guy (7)

   
   "Tex-Mex Guy (7)"
   
   With Curtis riding shotgun, buckled in by way of the Holy Spirit--the Tex-Mex Guy floored it to the sublime, yet fiction-like utopia of the suburban habitats, making sure the nacho cheese didn't get cold and sticky, him wanting it to be hot and lathery, able to be fully dipped into with a corn-crafted chip; therefore, he further ignited the power of  the five liter, the fuel injection system sending him in a tire-burning scurry past a recently ignited green light, and he was mercurially on his way.
   The giggly, rich girl, after receiving her hot and steamy dish, tipped him a crispy Abe Lincoln, and the Tex-Mex Guy was all smiles; next, Celina offered a text upon the screen of his cheap Smart Phone, it read:
  
Hey Tex-Mex Guy.  I think; moreover, I KNOW that I'm falling for you.  We should seriously consider getting serious.  Call me when you're off work.

   Saint Joan appeared in the back of the Mustang, though not sitting upon the steamy fajitas, and said:  "See Adami, your burning celibacy has allowed you to rise with corporeal resurrection.  God Bless the folks like you."  And she gave him a fling upon his cheesy sombrero--him then totally knowing:  friends can be anywhere and anything, as long as they're friendly and love you--and if you love them back.

Tex-Mex Guy (6)

   
   "Tex-Mex Guy (6)"

   The Tex-Mex Guy enjoyed the vibrations of yesterday, when sophisticated Celina kissed his lips before he powered the five liter away; next, Curtis howled a Hound Dog's goodbye, and the Tex-Mex Guy would bet that suave Celina was not cherry tart pie, but so alive in body and vehement spirit--her own synergy, a classic--in novellas untold.
   Back at home, simply surrounded by modesty and the antiquated devices of yesteryear's technology, the Tex-Mex Guy and Curtis slept till a busy Tuesday morn, when more fajitas would be made; plus, nacho cheese and the hunger for a blended cuisine, as goes the flow of our corporeal energy's mien; nevertheless, we all have the right, to keep them Northern Europeans in blonde and angelic flight--not that a brunette can't be an angel, but totally not a Bush League college girl who is getting vodka shots drank out of her nasty navel.
   

Tex-Mex Guy (5)

   
   "Tex-Mex Guy (5)"
   
   In the five liter Mustang, armed with 302 cubic inches that actually had some serious top-end potential--Celina sang Spanglish to the Tex-Mex Guy and Curtis, knowing Hispanic Bloggers use ALL CAPS--not to be rude, but to offer a higher-vibrating frequency, like this:
   
Tex-Mex Guy--why don't ya ARRIBA LA RAZA?
And kick the silly smooch out of that dude's turbo-powered Honda?
I would HASTA LA VISTA BAMBINO--yet making it never--
Not being AGOBIO by the eternal clock-tick that sometimes brings a hectic forever.
She, about me, has a BOCAZAS; indeed,
All concerns God's time and speed.