1970 Boss 429

   
   "1970 Boss 429"
   
   I've most likely crafted words concerning this pony power in the past; however, this muscle machine is indeterminate in specs and performance, for the specters of the past haunt with muscular mystery; regardless, the potency of this pony-powered stampede is undeniable--produced by Ford in restricted numbers during the year, Ford being an acronym, back in yesteryear for:  FIRST ON RACE DAY.  
   This bodacious beast had a 4-speed manual gearbox; plus, Ram Air intake from a totally Batman hood scoop; moreover, a twin in-line exhaust system.  Here are some approximate facts concerning this mystery of muscle--like this:

Horses:  And as with a certain invocation to Saint Joan of Arc as you sing for her to ride alongside you in battle; therefore, she would be thrilled about the 375 horses this galloping pony delivered.

450 lb-ft. torque--getting that power to the wheels.

0-60:  5 seconds, if floored with maximum gravity by way of the heeled cowboy boot.

1/4 Mile Express:  14 seconds at 103 Miles-Per-Hour.

Top Speed:  We should put it this way:  Constructed For Ultra-High Speed Cruising!!!

Crystalline Cool (40)

   
   "Crystalline Cool (40)'"
   
   It's called a novella, dumb ass.  Not a little book; however, the little wolf, as Dad knew--much more dangerous, stealing fire from the gods, making you grow old to identify with sin.  
   Sister Lucia dos Santos, of Fatima, knowing:  the final battle between the Lord and the serpent-head will be over family; specifically, it involves unjust marriage--She (Mother) said it, not me.
   And I can prove ye women are angels, for you are always harping on men, as a Bishop had instructed Dad through the echo-location of a black and white with rabbit ears, getting the more amiable current before the cloud that rains mistakes, yet truth--in semi-totality.
   Pappy Boyington knew a fighter pilot having shot down his own aircraft.  In trouble, redneck whooped, for there is a REDNECK FACTOR that outshines, and a Mayberry Man full of alcohol, and you condemn as not to be condemned--interesting.  The adder slithers well in you.  
   Dad was not perplexed.  Did not live in time.  No present--no gift.  No past or future, yet everlasting eternity is where the Apache did reside.  A man can be an attorney, an artillery officer, an FBI agent, yet nothing makes him a bad ass, nothing save serving five years in prison.  
   When you've endured any form of incarceration and survived by faith; next, you are a maximum bad ass.  Any fool can carry 100 pounds on his back for ten miles, but can they endure sodomy and perpetual cruel, without a toast of brotherhood at the end of the day?  Nope.  You are infinitely and sincerely weak.  Controlled by the stars.  Manipulated by horoscopes.  Slaves.
   Yet One Man went into the Underworld.  Lit it up!!!  Conquered the axioms of man.  Dad knew; plus, believed.  And in believing, ate a cupcake frosted in high amounts of sugar--for the heaven of it, believing in Christmas.  What a joyful noise unto the Lord, wise Solomon; moreover, red-designed Son of David, wending from fire into everlasting water.  Ice on the fertile move.      

Crystalline Cool (39)

   
   "Crystalline Cool (39)"
   
   Having anchored Duncan down near a little shanty on Saint Vincent Island, Rudolph evacuated his reindeer bowels, leaving some sublime scat--if only to be remembered.  He brushed the hot cherry of his mystical nose against Duncan's elbow, telling him to keep his hands up to the Lord, as did Moses, aided by Aaron, his brother and Levite Priest; plus, a fiery, little leprechaun heavenbent on fighting for Our Lady, and without Her inviolate moves--there would be no Christmas.  Present yourself unto the Lord, and great things will happen.
   After Rudolph blasted off towards the North, Duncan noticed that next to the modest shanty was a KX 200, armed with street legal modifications, as if constructed by the altruistic loyalty of a crossbow-carrying Wookiee, and all seemed great; indeed, Santa was no Scrooge, not wanting the haunt of having sown ill will towards others, but praying that their stockings be filled with the light of baby Jesus, Him having been held in the miraculous, loving arms of Saint Anthony himself, before Ricky Bobby stole the idea.  

Crystalline Cool (38)

   
   "Crystalline Cool (38)"
   
   Duncan wasn't happy--at first.  Saint Nicholas had come to him with some gingerbread men--healthy for bowel function, and said that the young man's Christmas gift was:  to be exiled in Florida; specifically, Saint Vincent Island, but it was named by the Franciscans, and they had some red wolves (Canis rufus), which are an endangered species in the United States of America, being a mix of coyote and wolf.    
   Duncan simply asked:  "Why?"
   Saint Nicholas responded:  "To get in touch with your RED.  The South equals passion and heat; moreover, you never know--you might pick up serpents, for there are plenty of gators down there, and don't worry, Tebow played for the Gators and he's a cool Christian.  So, just chill.  Ho!  Ho!  Ho!"
   Duncan said his farewell to Saint Nicholas, not understanding; next, Rudolph approached Duncan on the launching pad, saying with a sparkly nose:  "I'll be your La Santa Maria to the New World--you can just hop on my back, and we'll have a mystical synergy that will mesh our union of safety during fast flight."
   What could Duncan do?  Get a little shanty maybe, and somehow purchase a re-designed, lime-green KX 200 that was street legal.  And are there any ditches to be dug on an island?  Oh well, sometimes you gotta listen to Santa, even though he's not God, being capable of mistakes, but possibly, driving one to make it snow in the most scalding of atmospheres.  

Crystalline Cool (37)

   
   "Crystalline Cool (37)"
   
   Dad blew a smoke ring as he remotely viewed a rerun of Gunsmoke on the tube, and for a mini-second, pondered why people think Matt Dillon hangs out with Emilio Estevez and doesn't fancy a high-powered Colt sidearm in a quick-draw holster, much like Han Solo's.  
   But Dad also had counterpoise in thought, reflecting upon his son, Duncan.  It wasn't total telepathy that he knew the boy would be safe as he attempted crazy crusade, but by way of the words of surfer and super-athlete Laird Hamilton, him having said:  "God builds a good car."  Yeah, Dad watched a special on the surfer.  He was bullied by the locals for a while, but learned that with a simple Godsmack--the bullies would enter into a state of stupefaction. 
   The Apache elder journeyed back to his youth as well:  a slithery member of the tribe questioned and attempted to trick the others into not allowing him to be a Chief, armed with the loyal and creative name:  Little Wolf.  Yet Dad told the trickster:  "You don't look corporeally-pleasing enough to be a fox.  So quit trying to be what you are not, snake.  And any serpent can be charmed, or crushed by a Virgin's heel."
   There are foxes though.  General Lee, the Silver Fox, getting himself pardoned by Lincoln.  Yet even the fox could not outdo the coyote, General Grant, as we know today, as time tells through its state of being relative, for approximately two years ago, the infamous coyote of New York City was spotted standing over Grant's Tomb, as if remembering a spirit gifted, and freely.
   So, Dad went back to watching the tube, blew his symmetrical smoke rings to the heavens, and raised his vibrations by chanting an Apache frequency.   

Dances with Wolves (1990) - Two Socks Scene

Crystalline Cool (36)

   
   "Crystalline Cool (36)"
   
   Dad knew he was awesomely ambiguous.  Put everything in code like Faulkner & Pynchon--the greats, yet shooting straight with his parables of stoic humor.  And he invoked Saint Nicholas of Myra, knowing internally that Duncan was alongside the charitable Santa, praying that the boy got a muscle car, but re-designed with arctic traction.  Ice is beautiful and gorgeous, but presents a heavy danger, unless appreciating the thaw; next, accepting the fertility of what is to come.
   Roadkill was watching Taxi reruns with Tony Danza, and the old man got a kick out of the Golden Retriever's high level of cerebral capacity; plus, the noble beast had a spirit that could innocently enchant, like all domesticated dogs can do, if loved.  He fed his friend a bone.  Watched as the altruistic canine gobbled it up; next, a savory lick of a furry face smiling.
   Sure, Dad missed Duncan.  But he would see his son again.  Then, thought about getting more social.  Merging with the old tribe.  But the Apache man was a loner at heart.  Liked living in the past and facing his sins, saying:  "You can't bring me down, for look what you did."
   He cranked on the fire by way of a sulfur-inspired match; next, the cigar's cherry became aglow, like a shooting star so cosmically imbibed; then, the dusty smoke blown to the spirit world.