Tag: Cars

For the benefit of those unfamiliar with the acronyms in the title, I’ll explain.

A “BBW”, as found in all the best porno websites, stands for “Big-Bodied” or “Big-Butted” woman.  (The two are essentially interchangeable.)  Now I could digress down a branch line, as I usually do, and provide pictorial evidence but we’ve all seen pics of Kim Kardashian’s fat ass a million times (to our everlasting detriment) so I don’t have to go there.

I have no idea why fat asses are especially attractive — African men are particularly fond of them in that the folklore says that fat-assed women are more fertile than their skinny-derriere’d counterparts (wrong, like so much African folklore) — but that’s fine.  Personally speaking, I prefer something a little more substantial in the rear over some bony-assed skinny-minnie like, say, Gwyneth Paltrow, but not overpoweringly so like KK.  It’s very much a personal choice for any man, except that I find that men who do prefer the skinnies may be concealing a predilection for underage little girls, but that’s once again a personal suspicion.  Your mileage may differ, and that’s fine.

Which brings me to the BBC part (and I’m not talking about the British Broadcasting Corporation).

Every so often I receive an email update from the excellent Hemmings organization, which specializes in the sale or auction of second-hand exotic cars, and more especially in older beauties like this 1963 Ferrari 250 Grand Turismo Lusso (GTL) (asking price:  fergeddabahdit).

Said updates usually contain an overview of the latest of such cars coming onto the market, and provide me with many hours of automotive-inspired drooling.

Now because Hemmings is an American company, included in said updates are the various American cars of similar vintage, and here is where I come a little unglued.

As I’ve said many times before, growing up in the British- / European-influenced society called South Africa in the 1960s, posters of cars on my bedroom walls were more likely to be of that Ferrari type.  My knowledge, therefore, of American sports cars was extremely limited.  Most definite, therefore, was the fact that my taste in cars was going to be biased towards the Ferrari (or E-type, even) ilk.

So when I recently received a Hemmings email about the availability of a 1963 Ford Thunderbird Roadster, my jaw dropped in absolute incomprehension.  Here it is:

Now it’s far too big for my taste, of course, especially for a two-seater, but the front is not unattractive and very much in keeping with the ethos of the time in the U.S.  I’d score it about a 5/10 on the Kim Attractiveness Scale (Automotive Category, or KASAC), which is not bad for any Detroit Big Iron.

It’s when we get to the rear of this beast that we get to the ultimate horror of the BBC:

…which causes the thing to fall to a 2/10 KASAC.

Good grief, you could land a C-130 on the backside of that thing.  Amazingly, there was no such thing as a “parking assistance camera” in those days, but if ever a car needed such a thing, this would be at the head of the line.  I cannot imagine performing such an exercise.  (To avoid having you do some scrolling, here’s the side-by-side comparison:

Sorry, but I don’t get it.  To make matters worse, one might think that as both cars carried a full-sized spare tire (which was common for the time), the Ford would have been able at least to carry more luggage, except no:

Yes, I know the Ford needed room to accommodate the drop-top, but that doesn’t account for the shallowness of the trunk.

I know:  “Aha, Kim, you ignoramus!  The Ferrari was a four-seater, not a two-seater!”

Well, yes… except that in terms of passengers, it could only accommodate (maybe) two infants or two legless adolescents:

…but if you treat the back seat more as an adjunct trunk, bespoke luggage for the use of, then this Ferrari could probably hold a lot more baggage than the gargantuan Ford BBC.

As for the engines… well, the Ferrari’s 3-liter Colombo V12 vs. the T-bird’s 6.4-liter (390ci) V8.  Be my guest.

This post is about appearances, and my personal taste therein.  It most certainly has nothing to do with price, because (with links):

• 1963 Ferrari Berlinetta GT:  $1,650,000
• 1963 Ford Thunderbird Sports Roadster:  $65,000

In other words, take off a million and drop a zero… ’nuff said.

And in a final note of irony, I see that the Ferrari is currently located in Pontiac, Michigan.

I admit that I could listen to Jay Leno and James May talk about cars and such all day.  And that it takes place mostly in a Triumph TR6 makes it all the better.  (By the way, Jay’s take on the Ford Model T is wonderful.)

Should you want one properly restored, here are three options:  1972 / 1973 / 1974

I like the Racing Green one, but I’d happily drive any of them.

And from the comments, I think that “Our Man In Jay Leno’s Garage” is an inspired idea.  Make it happen, you guys.

Harry Metcalf takes a Ferrari 296 out for a spin.  And once he has it started (see around the 7-minute mark), he loves it.  But… hybrid, battery, hassle, tiny gas tank, blah blah blah.

So he wouldn’t want to buy one.  And at close to a half-million dollars, one is entitled to be fussy about all the inconveniences.

No thanks.  Call me old-fashioned (and some people have), but when I get into a car, I want to start the damn thing (preferably with a key), and get on the road.

It’s kinda sad when a Ferrari is no longer a lottery dream car.

Sent to me by Reader Ken, this observation:

The REAL reason why older gentlemen and hyper cars don’t mix

The video is priceless.

Even as a youngin, I found it difficult to get behind the wheel of a sports car (and even more so to get out of it), mostly because I was bigger than the average Alfa/Ferrari-driving snake-hipped Dago.

With my current physique — yea, even after the Ozempic thing — I’d never be able to fit into a McLaren F1 or the like because shoulders.  Getting out would require some kind of crane or block-and-pulley arrangement.

A little while ago I saw the middle-aged driver of a Mazda Miata having a little difficulty getting out at the supermarket, and I asked her how she found the Mazda.

“Best experience ever”, was her response.
“And the hassle of getting out?”
“Worth it.”

Which sums up my attitude, should I ever be in a position to own a sports car (NOT a “super car” because I’m not an idiot).

My current obsession:

Yeah, it’s not a “real” Ferrari.  Don’t care;  it’s friggin’ gorgeous.

Actually, the fact that it’s a recreated Ferrari with a Corvette engine without the bloated (and expensive) “Ferrari mystique” makes it even more desirable to me.

And I don’t care about the crane thing, either.