Mike's Cerebral Out-Spewings

The idiot A.K.A. "Volvo Clearing House"

Who am I? Why am I here? Such were the immortal words of Llyod Benson during the 1988 vice-presidential debate between him and Dan "The Tomatoe" Quayle. (Don't worry, that link goes to a much cooler video clip of the famous "Jack Kennedy" quip.)

I don't feel like too much self-indulgence tonight, so I'll just explain why my nickname is VCH, or "Volvo Clearing House". Back when I was living in Baltimore, my friend Erich and I used to get into all sorts of [mis]adventures together. Usually they involved some sort of internally-combusted fossil fuels and a reciprocating engine. Now I, for reasons that may eventually come out in psychotherapy, am a bit of a Volvo nut. I bought my first 122 about 5 years ago and since then I've had almost a dozen 122's and 1800's come into and out of my possession.

Now there was this infamous deal, about 3 years ago, where I bought an 1800, I think it was about a '68 or so, on eBay. Erich and I showed up at the guy's house with a tow dolly behind Erich's XTerra one Saturday, and find he has a veritable junkyard behind his house. Mostly it was older Mustangs, but strangely, he also had 3 decrepit 1800's stuffed in among the pony cars. Well, one thing leads to another, and pretty soon we have my auction-won 1800 angled up onto the tow dolly, and Brian (the fellow who I bought it from) following us back to my house with the other two 1800's loaded on his flatbed.

At some point in the trip, Erich remarked that he was the Convoy Master and I was a Volvo Clearing House, and those nicknames sortof stuck. I had kindof wished that I could be the Convoy Master, as I love the famous C.W. McCall song, but VCH was pretty cool, too. And descriptive.

Unsafe at Any Speed.

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You can't email me personally, but you can email the team. Nothing you can say to me that you can't say to all of us at: tunachuckers@gmail.com