Bitchin’ Camaro

It takes a strong woman to admit when you’re wrong.

And Mr. Camaro, I’ve been wrong about you.  But you gotta understand–growing up, Camaros were driven by, well, Guidos and Dirtbags. (If you’re not from the East Coast, you may have to Google that action.) Anyway, for years it was impossible for me to appreciate the low purr of your v8 (not to mention the turbo hydramatic) due to the inevitable refrain of “Yo! Look at the pair on her!” (I know, I know,smart & stacked– try to control yourself).   Thus my conversion to Camaro-phile has been understandly slow.

But now, 20 years later I see stuff like this and I want to cry: blue and all.  That is so sweet.  I’ve noticed that Camaro converts are everywhere:

And you know it’s hot when the kids are on it & they’re suped up and super-duper fly:

The Dead Milkmen would be proud.

I’ve read that a 45th anniversary edition of the Camaro, has just come out. Why haven’t I seen it? Maybe his parents are driving it up from the Bahamas.