I replaced by unicorn stick LP640 with the only thing that made sense

Very well written. I look forward to more.

Congrats Ed and thanks for this evening's reading entertainment...

Congrats she's a beauty and I'm not referring to Porsche!

Seriously hilarious story!

Haha that story is hilarious! Great explanation as well, totally get where you are coming from. Glad you have something you can properly enjoy!

I want the book

I want the book

 

Haha I was thinking the same thing! Definitely buying that one when it comes out!

 

Funny story Ed! Thanks for posting. Congrats on the new ride as well, shes a beauty! I was as shocked as everyone else when I saw your VI one for sale, but after reading your post (and knowing that you intend to DRIVE it and not worry about mileage), it makes plenty of sense. You have had one heck of a line-up of 640's now, I still remember your Rosso Vik one as well.

 

Enjoy it!

 

 

Incredible car! Congrats on the find and best of luck on your new venture.

Wow that combo is gorgeous. Congratulations

I want the book

I want the movie rights

Sure thing. Here is the story. It is long because I copied it out of the manuscript for my book about the NY to LA record. Sorry I don't have time to condense right now but here it is:

 

Early in 2011 I met one of the most interesting people whom I have ever known. A flatbed tow truck arrived at the dealership with a non-running Blue Caelum 2004 Gallardo. Every wheel was curbed, the tires were bald, the clutch was fried, and it was pouring oil from everywhere it could find. The door handles were broken off and the interior smelled particularly exotic. The two guys dropping it off didn’t speak much English. Best we could understand it, we were being asked to put together an estimate of what it would take to get the car back up and running. With quite the laundry list, the rehabilitation came to right at $20,000.

 

We called the number they left and did not get an answer. We had the car all apart and did not have anyone to pay for it. A man showed up a couple of days later and told us it belonged to his girlfriend’s daughter and that she was very attractive. It was a strange unsolicited comment but he did not present himself as being the most socially conforming type of person. At the moment he said she was in jail but she would be out soon and probably wanted to sell the car. My ears perked up.

 

The car was too rough to even wholesale. It needed a lot more work than we anticipated she would be able to afford so we parked it out back and waited.

 

A few days later I met Porsche (not her real name but a good prostitute name).

 

Porsche is a prostitute. Political correctness might ask that I say Porsche is an alleged prostitute but that wouldn’t be fair to the criminal justice system that had already convicted her of the charges three times in various metro Atlanta jurisdictions. While her mother’s boyfriend had insinuated that she was in jail for speeding it was, in fact, a professional appearance. Porsche had paid $100,000 in cash for the car in Miami about nine months prior to her most recent incarceration. While she was away some of her friends went joyriding fairly destructively in the Gallardo and thus our paths began to cross.

 

We were correct that Porsche was not in a position to write us a check for the service so she asked if we would buy the car. There are not many hand raisers for a supercar with a knowable bill to get it running but an unknowable subsequent list of additional needs not to be discovered until the first $20k was spent. I offered her $30,000. She wanted $60,000 as it sat. We settled on $30,000. I paid the service bill and stuck my detailers on it for a week. It had its electrical and mechanical quirks but it was a great car. It also said Lamborghini on it and had cost me less than a new Hyundai.

 

Porsche was half black and half vietnamese as best I could gather. She had blue and blonde hair and usually wore very tight nylon animal print short dresses. She had a lot of tattoos and they were conveniently displayed, even the ones in more private areas. She wore some weird zombie-like light blue contacts with catseye pupils. Porsche’s most compelling and presumably marketable feature was her backside. She had a reasonably proportioned, albeit augmented, torso but then she had 50” hips. I mean that she could take breaks while hula hooping. It was the kind of thing that you could never stop looking at, with or without it being arousing to you. She was taller sitting in a chair.

 

The demographic market for her specialty was a far cry from myself but I found her to be a phenomenally interesting person. She wanted a pink Bentley like the one Paris Hilton had on the TV. You can’t buy a Bentley and paint it pink for the $30,000 that I owed her for the Gallardo so we decided to see if we could get her financed for the balance.

 

That meant that Porsche and I got to talk about her credit. I asked her if she had ever gotten a loan for anything and she said “no.” That would normally be a death blow to a big car loan but if she was financing half of a $60-70k Bentley we thought we had a shot. Beyond that, the conversation was too much fun to stop. She pulled out her social security card which she apparently carried all of the time and she gave me her driver’s license to copy. The address that was on it matched the title for the Gallardo that she had but it was a strange location for a residence. It was off a big road in the center of town so I Googled it. It was an establishment called the Gold Spa. She unashamedly confirmed that was correct.

 

I asked Porsche who to list as her employer and she gave me a name of a pornography production company. She seemed to have her hand in a variety of businesses. I asked her how much she made and she said that it was between $10-50k per month, “So why don’t we just say $500,000?” That was on the unbelievable side of the scale for a bank.

 

“How about this, what did you put on your most recent tax return?”

 

She shook her head.

 

“Does that mean it was not very much or you just haven’t gotten around to filing.”

 

“That.” She said.

 

We estimated.

 

When we pulled her credit it was strange. There were no records at all. She had never used her social security number for anything. Not a cell phone, library card, credit card, not even a bank account. That became clear in the next step.

 

We had no banks that would step up to be the first credit offering to Porsche. Without a Bentley to apply it to, I told her we would give her a check for the Lambo. We printed it out, signed it, and handed it to her.

 

“What do I do with this?” She asked.

 

“You can deposit it or cash it. Do you have a bank account?” Head shakes. “Then just take it to our bank and they will give you cash.” The dots were not connecting.

 

“Really? Can you guys just give me cash?”

 

“No, we don’t keep that much cash around. It is super easy, they are right down the road.” I said. “Have you ever used a check?”

 

She had not ever seen one.

 

Porsche went on her way and I owned a prostitute’s Gallardo. I had a bear of a time getting the second key from her though. I called, texted, emailed, and tried everything to get in touch with her to get it. I wanted the second key and wasn’t wild about someone in her profession maintaining access to the car - not judging.

 

One day she sends me a text message.

 

“It’s my birthday tomorrow. Do you still want that key?” she asked. Interesting combination of ideas.

 

“Yes. Please. Can you bring it up here?” I asked.

 

“Can I get $100 for it?” I shouldn’t have been surprised given her normal income earning strategies.

 

“Sure. Get it here by 5 PM and I will give you $100.” No response. No show by 5.

 

The next day just as we were about to close, Porsche walks in. The best way to describe the dress that she was wearing is that it was a basketball net. More holes than fabric. It left even less up to the imagination than her normal wardrobe. There was a woman with a small child at our service counter. She saw Porsche’s dress, grabbed the child, and literally ran screaming out of the building.

 

“What are you all dressed up for Porsche?” I asked. She came over and hugged me. Porsche was a hugger.

 

“Itsma birfday!”

 

“Well you are halfway to that outfit, aren’t you?” I commented. I am not sure she got it.

She handed me the key. I paid her the $100. Given her attire I felt like the obvious question was sufficiently appropriate. My curiosity persisted on a zoological level. Utterly fascinating. No pun intended although our local Atlanta, low budget implant installers need to brush up.

 

“Porsche, do you have butt implants?” I was at the edge of my seat.

 

She was proud to answer, “No. I got a fat redistribution. You see, they made me gain 30 pounds, and then they suck it out, and they injected it right here.” She pointed to the injection site. They clearly used a turkey baster.

“Does it feel strange?”

 

“No. Feels normal.” She seemed quite pleased with it. I was proud to have lived long enough to encounter the recipient of such a pioneering medical procedure.

 

I haven’t seen Porsche since then but she does occasionally like and comment on some social media posts of mine. Now that is interesting.

 

I was very pleased to once again be an exotic car owner and I drove the wheels off of it. As I said, the house that we had purchased only had a two car garage. That meant that there was no place to put the Mercedes. I ended up enjoying the blue Gallardo as the first exotic that I had owned that finally had no strings attached. One consequence of the rental business was a hyper-consciousness about the cost of driving them. It was $5.71 per mile on average to drive a Ferrari 360 or Gallardo including the cost of consumable items, servicing, depreciation, insurance, cost of money, etc. With the financial risk removed from ownership of the ex-Porsche car, It quickly graduated into daily driver duty. The carefree feeling of a car that looks cool, is fun to drive, and was fresh out of a monster service was excellent.

 

 

OMG! This is the best story ever! ....and given some of the girlies I know totally believable!

 

....and I thought I had fun lol

 

 

 

 

Fantastic story Ed. Can't wait to get my hands on this book!

 

 

Very well written. I look forward to more.

 

 

I want the book

 

 

Haha I was thinking the same thing! Definitely buying that one when it comes out!

 

 

I want the movie rights

 

 

OMG! This is the best story ever! ....and given some of the girlies I know totally believable!

 

....and I thought I had fun lol

 

Thank you all. The book is available on Amazon here.

 

Here are some updated photos of the LP640:

 

These were taken by Instagram user @72.photos

 

 

These were taken by Instagram user @atl.cars

 

Sure thing. Here is the story. It is long because I copied it out of the manuscript for my book about the NY to LA record. Sorry I don't have time to condense right now but here it is:

 

Early in 2011 I met one of the most interesting people whom I have ever known. A flatbed tow truck arrived at the dealership with a non-running Blue Caelum 2004 Gallardo. Every wheel was curbed, the tires were bald, the clutch was fried, and it was pouring oil from everywhere it could find. The door handles were broken off and the interior smelled particularly exotic. The two guys dropping it off didn’t speak much English. Best we could understand it, we were being asked to put together an estimate of what it would take to get the car back up and running. With quite the laundry list, the rehabilitation came to right at $20,000.

 

We called the number they left and did not get an answer. We had the car all apart and did not have anyone to pay for it. A man showed up a couple of days later and told us it belonged to his girlfriend’s daughter and that she was very attractive. It was a strange unsolicited comment but he did not present himself as being the most socially conforming type of person. At the moment he said she was in jail but she would be out soon and probably wanted to sell the car. My ears perked up.

 

The car was too rough to even wholesale. It needed a lot more work than we anticipated she would be able to afford so we parked it out back and waited.

 

A few days later I met Porsche (not her real name but a good prostitute name).

 

Porsche is a prostitute. Political correctness might ask that I say Porsche is an alleged prostitute but that wouldn’t be fair to the criminal justice system that had already convicted her of the charges three times in various metro Atlanta jurisdictions. While her mother’s boyfriend had insinuated that she was in jail for speeding it was, in fact, a professional appearance. Porsche had paid $100,000 in cash for the car in Miami about nine months prior to her most recent incarceration. While she was away some of her friends went joyriding fairly destructively in the Gallardo and thus our paths began to cross.

 

We were correct that Porsche was not in a position to write us a check for the service so she asked if we would buy the car. There are not many hand raisers for a supercar with a knowable bill to get it running but an unknowable subsequent list of additional needs not to be discovered until the first $20k was spent. I offered her $30,000. She wanted $60,000 as it sat. We settled on $30,000. I paid the service bill and stuck my detailers on it for a week. It had its electrical and mechanical quirks but it was a great car. It also said Lamborghini on it and had cost me less than a new Hyundai.

 

Porsche was half black and half vietnamese as best I could gather. She had blue and blonde hair and usually wore very tight nylon animal print short dresses. She had a lot of tattoos and they were conveniently displayed, even the ones in more private areas. She wore some weird zombie-like light blue contacts with catseye pupils. Porsche’s most compelling and presumably marketable feature was her backside. She had a reasonably proportioned, albeit augmented, torso but then she had 50” hips. I mean that she could take breaks while hula hooping. It was the kind of thing that you could never stop looking at, with or without it being arousing to you. She was taller sitting in a chair.

 

The demographic market for her specialty was a far cry from myself but I found her to be a phenomenally interesting person. She wanted a pink Bentley like the one Paris Hilton had on the TV. You can’t buy a Bentley and paint it pink for the $30,000 that I owed her for the Gallardo so we decided to see if we could get her financed for the balance.

 

That meant that Porsche and I got to talk about her credit. I asked her if she had ever gotten a loan for anything and she said “no.” That would normally be a death blow to a big car loan but if she was financing half of a $60-70k Bentley we thought we had a shot. Beyond that, the conversation was too much fun to stop. She pulled out her social security card which she apparently carried all of the time and she gave me her driver’s license to copy. The address that was on it matched the title for the Gallardo that she had but it was a strange location for a residence. It was off a big road in the center of town so I Googled it. It was an establishment called the Gold Spa. She unashamedly confirmed that was correct.

 

I asked Porsche who to list as her employer and she gave me a name of a pornography production company. She seemed to have her hand in a variety of businesses. I asked her how much she made and she said that it was between $10-50k per month, “So why don’t we just say $500,000?” That was on the unbelievable side of the scale for a bank.

 

“How about this, what did you put on your most recent tax return?”

 

She shook her head.

 

“Does that mean it was not very much or you just haven’t gotten around to filing.”

 

“That.” She said.

 

We estimated.

 

When we pulled her credit it was strange. There were no records at all. She had never used her social security number for anything. Not a cell phone, library card, credit card, not even a bank account. That became clear in the next step.

 

We had no banks that would step up to be the first credit offering to Porsche. Without a Bentley to apply it to, I told her we would give her a check for the Lambo. We printed it out, signed it, and handed it to her.

 

“What do I do with this?” She asked.

 

“You can deposit it or cash it. Do you have a bank account?” Head shakes. “Then just take it to our bank and they will give you cash.” The dots were not connecting.

 

“Really? Can you guys just give me cash?”

 

“No, we don’t keep that much cash around. It is super easy, they are right down the road.” I said. “Have you ever used a check?”

 

She had not ever seen one.

 

Porsche went on her way and I owned a prostitute’s Gallardo. I had a bear of a time getting the second key from her though. I called, texted, emailed, and tried everything to get in touch with her to get it. I wanted the second key and wasn’t wild about someone in her profession maintaining access to the car - not judging.

 

One day she sends me a text message.

 

“It’s my birthday tomorrow. Do you still want that key?” she asked. Interesting combination of ideas.

 

“Yes. Please. Can you bring it up here?” I asked.

 

“Can I get $100 for it?” I shouldn’t have been surprised given her normal income earning strategies.

 

“Sure. Get it here by 5 PM and I will give you $100.” No response. No show by 5.

 

The next day just as we were about to close, Porsche walks in. The best way to describe the dress that she was wearing is that it was a basketball net. More holes than fabric. It left even less up to the imagination than her normal wardrobe. There was a woman with a small child at our service counter. She saw Porsche’s dress, grabbed the child, and literally ran screaming out of the building.

 

“What are you all dressed up for Porsche?” I asked. She came over and hugged me. Porsche was a hugger.

 

“Itsma birfday!”

 

“Well you are halfway to that outfit, aren’t you?” I commented. I am not sure she got it.

She handed me the key. I paid her the $100. Given her attire I felt like the obvious question was sufficiently appropriate. My curiosity persisted on a zoological level. Utterly fascinating. No pun intended although our local Atlanta, low budget implant installers need to brush up.

 

“Porsche, do you have butt implants?” I was at the edge of my seat.

 

She was proud to answer, “No. I got a fat redistribution. You see, they made me gain 30 pounds, and then they suck it out, and they injected it right here.” She pointed to the injection site. They clearly used a turkey baster.

“Does it feel strange?”

 

“No. Feels normal.” She seemed quite pleased with it. I was proud to have lived long enough to encounter the recipient of such a pioneering medical procedure.

 

I haven’t seen Porsche since then but she does occasionally like and comment on some social media posts of mine. Now that is interesting.

 

I was very pleased to once again be an exotic car owner and I drove the wheels off of it. As I said, the house that we had purchased only had a two car garage. That meant that there was no place to put the Mercedes. I ended up enjoying the blue Gallardo as the first exotic that I had owned that finally had no strings attached. One consequence of the rental business was a hyper-consciousness about the cost of driving them. It was $5.71 per mile on average to drive a Ferrari 360 or Gallardo including the cost of consumable items, servicing, depreciation, insurance, cost of money, etc. With the financial risk removed from ownership of the ex-Porsche car, It quickly graduated into daily driver duty. The carefree feeling of a car that looks cool, is fun to drive, and was fresh out of a monster service was excellent.

 

Video version

 

PURE GOLD, Mr Ed. Loved the story!

 

Video version

 

 

This story never gets old.

Book is on my kindle now, kindle unlimited FTW