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BOTD 1/24/13 "Willy's Wild Ride" An Anonymous production

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David M. Katz


An Anonymous Production

It is October 1968. You are a middle aged father who is now in deep trouble with his better half.

She's quite annoyed with you, because in a fit of middle aged idiocy, you fell in love with a car at your local Chevy dealer, and without her approval, you traded in your still very serviceable 1963 Biscayne six cylinder Powerglide sedan for a brand new 1969 Impala Sport Coupe.

Your Old Car
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Your Sweet New Ride
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It has all the bells and whistles including air conditioning, power steering, power disk brakes, Hydramatic 3 speed automatic transmission... in short, all the toys... it cost you nearly $4,500 plus tax to drive it home.

Unfortunately, it also came equipped with a 427cubic inch 4 barrel big block engine which develops 335 hp and 460 ft-lbs of torque and is so powerful your wife is nervous about driving it (your spouse does not work out of the home and this is the sole family car - remember it is 1968).

She also hates the colour - Garnet red - but that was the biggest reason you fell in love with it.

You are still sleeping on the sofa a week later.

Your seventeen year old son, Willy, on the other hand, loves the car to the point where you suspect it has taken front place in his masturbatory fantasies.

Willy - 17
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He swore up and down he'd be careful with it when he borrowed it on Saturday night to take his girl to the drive-in... and the car was returned without a scratch in plenty of time to meet his one o'clock curfew. You were complementary to the boy next morning and made a point of telling him you were proud of him for being so responsible with such a powerful car.

While driving to work Monday morning, something doesn't feel quite right in the way your new toy drives and you are making up your mind to drop in to the dealership later on to have it checked. You come to a stop at the busiest intersection in town, then try to pull away when the light changes to green. The car does not move... the engine revs up, but the power doesn't get to the wheels... and at least two hundred and fifty horns start to blow at you as you block the flow of traffic

Later that morning the telephone rings at work, and the service manager of the dealership, who is a close and long term friend, speaks to you in a very hesitant voice.

He tells you that the G.M. representative had a look at your car - the amount of damage involved made referral to the zone office mandatory - and he has vetoed any reimbursement for the repairs since the car has been seriously abused. There is no question about this... the nature of the damage alone would be proof enough in court, but an employee of the dealership saw your son drag racing and doing burnouts with the car on Saturday night... he is prepared to testify to the fact.

Your friend is sorry, but there is nothing he can do to help you except to try and keep the repair costs as low as possible... he says that it wouldn't have been so bad but the automobile was not yet broken in and thus more susceptible to damage.

He gives you the news... the transmission and differential need rebuilding, the rear brakes are ruined... plus the universal joints need replacement as well.

Not only that, but the tires are also badly flat spotted and are unsafe to drive for any distance at highway speeds. In all, the repairs will come to over $1000 , and our friend says that, in any case, the car will never be entirely satisfactory again.

To put the cost of this damage in perspective for the younger readers...recall that it's 1968 and the car only cost you $4,500 to buy... your mortgage payments are only $150 a month...

What will you say to Willy? More to the point, what will you say to Wilma, your wife?

Cleverly disguised as a responsible adult.

John Boy

Um I need to get ready for a "I told you so from the wife." My son however is never going near my car again, at least not driving it.


Editor Extraordinaire
That's a lot of damage for one night. I'm having a hard time imagining how Willy could have managed it. I guess I'll have to swallow the cost of the repairs, but Willy is going to wait a long time before he drives again. He can get a part time job and work towards buying his own car, which may give him more incentive to take care of it. Being the late 60s, I'll probably take some of my frustration out of his hide. For both our sakes, however, Wifey won't be hearing about this.



I don't really know how to address this issue, because it doesn't seem real to me.

Willy and I are roughly the same age (he's a little older). My first car was a 1969 Pontiac GTO with a 440HP 4 barrel carburetor. From the photo, it's pretty much the same car with different trim (though I'm pretty sure my GTO would take that Chevy easily).

I was even more of a geek than Willy looks to be, and I was a careful driver. I have no first hand experience with drag racing, since I was sure my dad would have killed me if I had survived the race. Still, I can't imagine, even given GM's horrible quality control in those days, that a single drag race would destroy the vehicle. Mine was going strong even after my one and only ever accident, and remained so until my dad sold it when I left for college. For the record, it was bought used, only about a year old, but with high mileage having been owned by a cardiologist who drove like a madman (and later nearly died in a car crash). For you younger readers, in those days a 4 year old car was ready for the scrap heap in most cases. Also for you younger readers, and as a reminder to us old ones, the median income in the US in 1968 was 8600 per YEAR. As late as 1981, flagship vehicles from almost all manufacturers were less than 13K including tax and license, out the door.

By 17, I hadn't been spanked for a long time, though I believed it was still a possibility given the right circumstances. I think that if my dad had been sleeping on the sofa because of a car, and I'd destroyed said car, not by accident but by joyriding, those would be the right circumstances, especially if the repairs weren't covered under warranty and even once I paid for the repair the "car would never be entirely satisfactory again".

Given that it's 1968, I'm going to have the car repaired and try to sell it privately without mentioning the issues. It's the era of caveat emptor. Wilma will be glad to be rid of it. Willy will have to change his masturbatory fantasies to the switching he'll get as a result of this. And he won't be driving anything or anywhere until he turns 18.


Looks like I'll be eating a $1,000 repair bill and getting a few earfuls from my wife. Evil or Very Mad Willy won't be driving my car again, ever! I agree with Kat, he can get a job and save up for his own car that he will hopefully take care of. In the meantime the two of us are going to the woodshed for a good ol' fashioned session with the strap on his bare backside. It is after all 1968!

David M. Katz

Toasted car = toasted Willy.

Cleverly disguised as a responsible adult.


Oy! Just OY!!! What a freakin' mess.

I'm going to have to eat the cost of this repair (and I hope I can) and try to offload the car. Willie is toast without doubt! At least I can take my frustration out on his rump-it's 1969!!

The next car will be as much a performer as before as I enjoy that as a driver. Will however shall only 'drool from afar' as I will get a 'granny-mobile' for the kidz to drive!!!


"OFF with his pants king !" and I hope he takes care of his bicycle!


6 months pay, then another thousand on top. Willy can start saving for his own car then may be he'll learn to be a bit more careful. First things first I have to be prepared to get it in the neck from Wilma(Did Fred Flintstone have this trouble?). That green colour reminds of the ford cortina my folks had when I was small

And then I have to take Pebbles, sorry Willy out to the conveniently empty garage and wear him out with the strap. Looks like I can still just about overpower him the way he did my car

Stone Man

I don't want to imagine the scenario if I had ever pulled such a stunt. The Geeky kid with glasses enjoying himself by reading could easily be me. I was 17 in October 1968. I did drive the family Biscayne and later an Impala with a 454 four barrel but both were the Station Wagon versions.

My XXX! but that boat of a car Impala could fly with the greatest of ease. Remember gas was cheap back in those days too.

I know the setting has me in the Dad role, but I can only answer as what would have happened to me if I had ever had a bone-headed idea as this.

My level headed Dad would have bent me over the hood of that red car and painted my backside till the colors matched using the ever effective razor strop... and not just one time. The income from my afternoon jobs would have been forfeit to Dad until the bills were paid off and I'd've been made to look for for a weekend one as well. Driving would have been out for me, unless I had one of the Rents with me.

As an aside, the Mongo Buggy (Impala) came back East and was sold to a local gentleman who wanted the engine for his truck. Instead he had the body repaired and repainted and gave it to his wife for a Summer vehicle (driving on salted roads is a No No). Dad and I get a ride in it once or twice every summer. Man but it really is a BOAT compared to today's cars.


I agree with Kat for the most part. How the heck did all that damage occur, even if he was drag racing all evening. (And how well does this person who claims they recognized Willy really know him? Is this the only car of this type they've ever sold?).

Putting that aside, I'm going to try to get the Biscayne back, get the Impala repaired, and sell it, 'because my wife isn't comfortable driving it.'

While my Dad and first step-dad were a bit older than this (Patrick would be 21 in 1968, and David would have just turned 22 around Oct), I'm going to go by a few things they said to me. Seventeen or not, he borrowed my car, accepted responsibility for it, and didn't meet his obligations. I certainly hope he's not taking a gym class his senior year, because those switch welts will probably be on display for the rest of the week.

If he doesn't have a job, he'll be getting one, and he's going to be paying me for a while, as well as never using the family car again.

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