The Late Greats

Mon capitán rightly points out that we've been off the bloggy radar far too long. Please permit me to explain.

The Mustag spent the fall waiting for its shiftless keepers, a third
of the team, to find jobs and relocate. We ultimately kept our noses
above the rising tide of unemployment - but only to pour all that
money into Exhibit A for Detroit's bailout case.

Finally. Finally, in late November, Esposto got to shove the bane of
property values everywhere out of his garage and down the open road to
its new base in Alameda, CA. OK, Bay Farm Island. Whatever. Shut up.
Work resumed immediately or sometime thereafter, with the kind of
enthusiasm that can only be stoked by a looming deadline coupled with
rising expectations.

The expectations? Good God, man. We made Jalopnik. And how? On the strength of WST's opus and Beau's paint job. Meaning the spotlight was now upon the 6 actual, driving team members based on no
merits of our own. Drats.

Having something to prove, four of us took our egos to the First
Annual LeMons Scab-Enger hunt to show 'em we at least knew our way
around a junkyard.

That backfired spectacularly. We won. We made Jalopnik again and
Autofiends to boot, and we took the goddamn pole. Now we can't sit
quietly in the back with our hoodies pulled down over our eyes. We
have to lead this charge of the crap brigade. How much Phil Collins do
you have to pump out the back to go faster?

Back to the grind.


What a hilarious pun. This is what I'll be remembered for when my car explodes.