On the eleventh day of Christmas my archive gave to thee:
A yellow Maserati,
Ten footer Mini,
911 stancing,
Jade Mach 1 Mustang,
'77 Lincoln,
Suede Studebaker,
Fine Nomad bling,
Ford Thunderbird,
Beige French shed,
Tuned Chevy LUV,
and a Park Lane down on the street.
It's the mid-1980s. Ronald Reagan is in his second term as president. The economy is good and it's time to reward yourself with a new convertible. Do you do what your old man recommends and buy American? You could pick up a turbo four-cylinder Dodge 600 or a Chrysler LeBaron, perhaps a Foxbody Mustang? You wouldn't settle for a Cavalier Z24 or Sunbird GT, would you? And dear old Dad didn't survive a tour in the Pacific Theater just so you could buy a Toyota Celica GT-S. How about your European options, then? BMW E30 325i? No, half the board of directors has those. Mercedes 560SL or Jaguar XJS? No, too much gas. Porsche 911 Cabriolet? Too expensive. Corvette? How gauche. No, you need to go Italian. Enter the Maserati Biturbo Spyder.
