I'm tryin to figure out was my Rivera cousin found so funny with my first post?

If the Northstar had ANYWHERE near the 3800 aftermarket. You'd all be grovelling at my feet.

The pride of Oldsmobile soldiers on until our photographer, Morgan Segal, whom we inexplicably put in the driver’* seat, hits a tractor tire. Segal limps back to the pits with the front suspension so far toed out that the tires squeal when the car travels in a straight line. We struggle through the last 30 minutes in 22nd place, only to find that we’ve won the uncoveted “People’* Curse.” We’re to be crushed come morning.

Day Two

Lamm had planned to destroy the cursed car by dropping it from a crane or running over it with a tank. Neither proved feasible. In the end, three women with pickaxes, claw hammers, and sledgehammers savage the Aurora. Unsatisfied with the level of “destruction,” the crowd rolls the Aurora onto its roof. Cheers erupt. Satisfied, the mob rolls the Aurora back onto its feet. Shocking the mob, the Olds starts right up. Oldsmobile, bitch, Oldsmobile.

And so the Aurora returns to the race. A front-end realignment undoes some of the toe out, and we run for a few hours until a broken tie rod flings Robinson into the tire wall. In the pits, Robinson, our “Mr. Goodwrench” Dave Ferguson, and the Arc Angel “repair” the tie rod. An hour later the tie rod snaps again. No one is ready to cry uncle, so we again have the Arc Angel weld every piece of scrap metal we can find to hold the damned thing together.