During my overlong apprenticeship as a teenaged dunce, I used to own a Pontiac GTO, one in a long line of so-called muscle cars Detroit pumped out during the late 1960s and 70s, which were cleverly marketed to immature adolescents such as myself.
Those vehicles were likely the reason behind my father taking out a second mortgage just to cover the insurance and fuel costs of that 370-horsepower monstrosity.
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