Delighted, I went to get some bread to toss out; but when I threw the first chunk, the duck took off. Oh well.
* * *
Here is a really long but really neat thread on the Fiero forum about a 12-year-old girl who decided she wanted to restore a Fiero to drive when she's 16.
Using money earned from babysitting--and with her father's help--she bought a running '86 SE, 4-speed V6 car, for $450. And the thread details all the work she's done on the interior, with pictures.
With a V6 and 4-speed, that car's going to be a little rocket--but since she's putting so much effort into restoring the thing I bet it almost never gets abused.
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Back when I was living in Cedar Rapids, there was some travel show on somewhere, and I once happened to watch an episode. This one was narrated by a guy with an atrocious (and fake) German accent.
This particular episode was about--as I recall--Peru, and one of the things the guy warned the viewer about was a terrorist/communist group there. Its name forms an acronym which is very, very easy to remember, but (probably) impossible to do any meaningful Internet search for: PUBE. The word, in this application, is not pronounced "pyoob" but "poo-beh"...yet whenever the faux-German guy would refer to the group, he'd say "pyoob".
So after warning us about PUBE, the show went to a commercial break; and when we got back from the commercials, we saw the guy sitting in a chair, with a couple of uniformed people standing behind him with AK-47s and bandannas over their faces.
Guy: I haff been capturet by pyoob.
Terrorist: (nudges him with rifle butt) Poo-beh.
...and every time--every time--he would refer to them as pyoob and a terrorist would nudge him and correct him, poo-beh.
From there the travelogue devolved into silliness about this guy falling in love with some Schwartzeneggarian female whose face he never saw because of her mask, Stockholm syndrome, blah blah blah, etcetera, and I don't think I even watched the end of the show to find out if the guy got away from PUBE, or what.
* * *
Every time I see the tires sitting just inside the front door, I think, "Woohoo! New tires!" It won't last, of course, since they'll be going on the motorcycle. But it's a nice feeling.