Life is a delicious mixture of planning and doing. We all know people who specialize in one at the expense of the other, but a person has to be fluent in both.
So with the planning part over, I need to start doing. My plan has been to write The Great American Novel, an endeavor which will bring unparalleled fortune and a crapload of other good things. That’s where this Cadillac plays into the plan…
Once all the royalty checks start rolling in, along with selling the movie rights for some gleefully obscene amount due to the bidding war among the various studios, I will have earned the right to do something both delightfully ludicrous and unabashedly vulgar in regards to a different daily driver.
Sure, I will be able to easily afford some new high-falutin’ conveyance; you know, something unabashedly ludicrous and delightfully vulgar. When I start thinking of such aspirational machines, what’s a feller to choose?
For whatever reason, Bentley springs to mind. It’s certainly aspirational but not exactly meeting the mental image of a Bentley. Yes, times do change since Bentley has branched out with that SUV called Ben-gay-nee or Bent-asia or Ben-Tonya or some such. But a four-wheel drive, hatchback Bentley? Can you envision the butler trying to get the mud out of the spokes of those wheels?
No, we need to plan more strategically. While some of those fantastical, aspirational nameplates come from Europe, it would only be proper to stick with the home team. So let’s go with something having a touch more Americano about it…
Here we go.
I could go all practical and get myself one of them there top-shelf pickups equipped with everything except a butt-wiper. There is an appeal of sorts, but my unique accomplishment will require a unique reward. If such machines can be found sitting on a dealer’s lot in a slew of different colors is it really that unique?
You are right; it isn’t. Anybody can lariat themselves a platinum raptor with the tremors from Mr. King’s ranch. That’s not so XL-enT.
One has to reach high, think deeply, get creative, and go for the gusto. Or not. Really, the only thing fitting for such an occasion, as it has been since well before William Crapo Durant was running a bowling alley, is a Cadillac.
Seriously, other than Volkswagen, what other brands of automobile have so comprehensively imprinted themselves on the collective psyche, even having entered the common vernacular through similes?
Go ahead, I’ll give you a moment.
That’s right, there aren’t any – it’s only Cadillac, a make that stands above the herd. If something is like a Cadillac (be it riding like one or as smooth as one or as big as one or being the one of minivans), that means Cadillac is the standard. And, thinking about it, Cadillac has been the Standard Of The World for a mighty long time.
Do you really want to brag about something riding like a Honda (or Toyota or Mazda or Ford or Chevrolet or even Subaru)? I didn’t think so. That is definitely something, but aspirational it is not.
So when that day gets here, only a Cadillac will suffice. But not just any Cadillac…this is the time to be choosy and one needs to be choosy with their Cadillac. Why?
We all know Cadillac lost the plot in a big, fat, serious way a good while back. But it hasn’t always been that way. Why, in 1968, Cadillac was at the top of their game. That’s convenient too, because a 1968 Cadillac is what jumped out in front of the camera.
But this particular 1968 Cadillac is everything good, and nothing that is bad, about Cadillac. These qualities are exactly what I want.
Look at how that face juts forward, ready to advance and conquer. This is the automotive version of General George S. Patton, something that is ready, willing, and able to whoop all adversaries. This face is also backed up by 472 cubic inches of cast iron, four-barrel ecstasy supplying 525 lbs-ft of delicious torque, which means people like me who don’t like farting around won’t have to.
If you want to fart around, get yourself about any Cadillac built between 1981 and 1989, especially one with the V6 or the diesel. Think of all those poor bastards (whoa, that sounds like Patton talking) who scrimped and saved money all their life to buy a Cadillac, only to get a 4,000 pound pile of despair.
It wasn’t always that way, especially in 1968.
Long, low, and purposeful. This Cadillac is all business on the outside, back before Cadillac jumped on the Goofy Train with every manner of visual automotive foofaraw plastered all over creation. It almost makes a person wonder if all the off-gassing from the acres of vinyl Cadillac was using on their cars affected interior air quality at their factories. Shameful.
But back to our Cadillac…who today mimics the gracious yet ruthless automotive design as seen on this Fleetwood?
Sure, a person can get something that looks all mean and scornful but can it really cash those checks? As my Grandpa always told me, don’t let your mouth overload your ass. And some new cars are overloading themselves.
But not this Cadillac. If it says it will do it, it will. You can take that to the bank.
Which is exactly where I plan to keep heading once I get my Cadillac. Anybody making frequent trips to the bank wants to have their delicate posterior cradled in the finest of interiors. Well, once again, Cadillac delivers.
Did you expect anything less?
I figure if the interior has this minimal amount of wear after 54 years (along with all door panels still being fully intact), some mild refurbishment will easily make it last another half-century or so. Best of all, this seat looks so much more comfortable than anything on the market today. Lots of folks may like firm now, but they’ll get old, their joints will stiffen, their hemorrhoids will blossom, and they will realize the need for something better.
There is a reason why the words “Cadillac” and “coddling” both start with the same letter.
This fine Cadillac is going to provide a really swanky ride for all manner of endeavors. Keep in mind I also have to outdo all those politicians from around the state who converge here in the state capital the first five months of the year. This Cadillac will prompt them to whimper in jealousy – a surprising number of vehicles cavorting around town during that time have their “Senate” or “Representative” license plates affixed to those platinum lariats having the tremors mentioned earlier.
This Cadillac isn’t top shelf; it’s so special it’s backroom and only spoken of in hushed tones. This is the top dog of the entire 1968 Cadillac line; there is nothing that surpasses this Cadillac in Cadillac-ness. Just a squirt of black paint and this particular Fleetwood will sparkle like a diamond in a goat’s ass.
It doesn’t take much imagination to see myself in this specimen of Cadillac perfection.
After finding this Cadillac, it’s really hard to comprehend why I have
wasted spent so much of my life looking at other cars. There is so much to behold with this one simple Cadillac, everything else pales wretchedly in comparison. After my book is published, I will own nothing but Cadillacs from here on out. I’m even thinking a first-generation Seville would be a nice economy car for the Mrs; maybe even a Cimarron for driving the trash to the road for pickup.
Yet now it is time to say farewell, as other responsibilities await. But stay tuned, as one day soon you will be reading book reviews about this fantastic new novel filled with gratuitous sex and violence in which the protagonist roams the countryside in search of vintage Cadillacs, all of this being a cover for…hey, wait, I can’t give away the plot.