If it wouldn't cost so much to fix, I would take a hammer to this car and beat it to a pulp. It just will not succumb. Five years we've been a slave to this project. We've worn out three pairs of glasses studying the film, followed the Coupe around car shows like Inspector Clouseau, fried our brain on the cell phone talking to morons all across the country trying to glean any kind of information, hocked our kids paying for custom parts, and for what? This car will not be finished! It's like Christine, but instead of killing you it bleeds you dry.
Every time we think we're done, it pulls us back in. The speedometer? Forgetaboutit. Done deal. A year and too many zeros to count, got it. The engine? Don't get me started. If there was a crook selling a part, we found him. But, a truck load of effort and countless clams later, done. All the miscellaneous little crap that it takes to build one of these yellow turds, we've done. Why? Because we loooove the Coupe. It's cooool. We're idiooots.
This isn't even funny. We're down to the last part. Really. The last mother f**king part. The slip yoke for the drive shaft. That's right. A measley 30.00 part. No problem. Time to take the picture boys! Hire the girls, chill the beer and lock the doors. Partay!
Oh, but this is the coupe. You cannot win. What were you thinking? I don't know, but I can tell you what I wasn't thinking. I wasn't thinking that our oh-so-pristine 1961 T-10 transmission was any different than any other oh-so-pristine 1961 T-10 transmission. I wasn't thinking that while every other oh-so-pristine 1961 T-10 transmission had an output shaft with 16 spline, our oh-so-pristine 1961 T-10 transmission has 23. Twenty-three? And guess how much a slip yoke with a 23 tooth spline cost? Nothing! That's right No cost at all. Why? Cause they don't exist. Oh maybe there's one in someone's backyard somewhere, but there isn't any for sale that's for sure. I know. I've been on the computer and phone for three days. It seems GM made ten of these things back in '61 and said "screw it, 23 is too hard to count, we'll go back to putting 16 teeth on 'em". Probably the number of teeth the GM engineer's mother had. The bastard.
So, I guess we can pull the tranny and replace the shaft. Or we can buy another one altogether. Don't forget we have to pull the engine back out to get to the little f**ker. Take off all the sh*t we just finished putting on. Oh yeah, we can do what needs to be done. It's only time. And money. And maybe a blocked pulomanary artery. But why stop now? We've been here before. You know...We're traveling through another dimension. A dimension not only of sight and sound but of mind. A journey into a wondrous land whose boundaries are that of imagination. That's a signpost up ahead. Our next stop? The Coupe Zone.
Just shoot me.
I Think I'm Going To Kill Myself - Elton John
