more summertime re-runs today. this one finishes off the sex and/or theatre installments for good. though it’s more about the car than anything else. a touch of lipstick and viola. the legend lives once again. thanks for reading.
for once the category sorta resembles what i’m going to write about. no sorta mystical, what the fuck is he talking about stuff, but an auto or maybe 2, unless of course i get side tracked.
the chocolate bomb was an early 60’s corvair convertible. 4 cylinders of mush power with a nice chevy slip and slide auto tranny. but best of all was the color, milk chocolate brown. hence it’s name.
it was a friends mother’s car. the same family from huntington and the trailer park from previous stuff. it was a fun car. it never went any place in a hurry mainly because it couldn’t.
i almost used it to take my first drivers test at 16 years old. you could parallel park it in your sleep and believe you me some days i needed it. it is kind of amazing that the local dmv, down on 4th in the olden days, didn’t get wise to the chocolate bomb. it must have shown up a number of times with a different smiling shinning faced teenager behind the wheel. this your parents car? yes, sir.
the chocolate bomb was around even into the jfk street theatre days. it played the role of the lincoln a few times. however, it’s greatest role came one early summer evening. at the north end of newport beach. just south of the santa ana river mouth. the houses in that area right on the beach.
several of us had gone out for a cruise with the top down, of course. we wandered onto the streets around those houses. cruising. as any good street theatre performer of those days knows, when the muse slaps you silly, you act. regardless how fucking stupid the idea is or how even more fucking stupid you will look if you do it. yes, yes.
it occurred to us all at pretty much the same time. muses are quick and can slap numerous people silly very quickly. well, 3 anyway. hey, we need to ‘do’ the rose parade!! boffo idea!! lots of folks outside bbqing or washing their rides. they need a diversion. and the diversion was us. myself and another guy sat on the back of the car with our feet on the back seat waving and blowing kisses, just like the damn demented rose queen and her court. in hindsight, 40 some years ago was not the time or the place for that riff. hell, it might not even be the time or place for it today. i guess it would just depend. veering here.
things went ok for a time as we wound our way through the houses in that area. we even got a few laughs. at some point or another we pissed some guys off with our little show. go figure. they of course yelled crazy shit at us and we yelled back. they ran for their car.
the chocolate bomb for some strange reason, maybe the muses had slapped her as well, was up for the occasion. the driver floored it and with the head start we had, the douche bags got close, but they never caught us. then again maybe the reason being we knew the area and the streets and they were just renters from des moines. i really don’t know.
in a spine tingling rush of adrenaline the legend of the chocolate bomb reached new heights that night. it may have been it’s finest hour. pushed to the limit of it’s mushy 4 cylinders, it careened to and fro through the streets of newport beach for what seemed an eternity. time may have stood still that summer evening but the chocolate bomb sure as hell didn’t. god bless her.
this morning’s non-music provided by espn on the am radio.
a chevy corvair. not the chocolate bomb but you get the idea.