The year is 2029. My muscle car turns 60 two days before I turn 38. For my birthday I want one thing. To drive my 1969 Camaro SS. I have filed all the necessary paperwork with the EPA. I have all my permits mounted visibly in my garage. I have 932 dollars of good old American gasoline in a can waiting to go into the government approved six gallon tank. I have gotten a release from the neighborhood homeowners association for the noise ordinance. I have purchased the appropriate amount of carbon credits to offset the environmental impact of my birthday joyride. I have an appointment tomorrow morning with an EPA officer who will be coming by the house to check all restraint devices and to make sure I have my helmet and fire retardant outerwear. He will also be the attendant officer on the day of the trip. Making sure I keep to the designated driving route. Everyone living or doing business within 50 miles of the route has been officially notified two weeks in advance as stipulated by EPA guideline J27 section 4 articles 5, 6, 9, and 23. This will be the last year I do this. Already I've spent 16 grand just on this one hour drive and with the proposed tax increases this will cost me 25 big ones next year. My friends all tell me to donate the car to the Smithsonian muscle car museum and take the tax break, but my friends have never felt American muscle rumble underneath them with a 396, oversized cam, and dual exhaust. My friends have never left 40 feet of black rubber on dry pavement or screamed along with Robert Plant at the top of their lungs singing Black Dog over the roar of the engine redlining and the tires squealing. My friends live quiet lives. My friends stay in line, in between the lines, but ours is a kind government with our best interests at heart. Kind parents who know when we've had enough. Who know when it's time to put our toys up so we won't hurt ourselves.

Deep South Performance...selling momentos to remember your past by!