That is an excellent clone and I appreciate it. Though it’s malaise by definition, I’m not sure its malaise in spirit. Nonetheless, it did inspire me to write something, so I’m going to use it. I would just ask that future entries be a bit malaiser
Top of the line in… nothing, really.
The 1985 Vexata Virage. Too chrome for its own good.
It weighs 3100 pounds, and is powered by a horrendous 140hp V6.
Base price? $11169
1983 Bogliq Mutineer Empower (Chrome Pack)
In response to the new Ardent Chancellor being released, Bogliq USA refreshed the Mutineer to ensure Bogliq would remain ahead of their rival in the sales race…
Despite being an older design, the Mutineer had superior fuel economy, 0-60, top speed and the engine was also more powerful than the Ardent’s boat anchor, packing 230BHP standard!
The only benefit the Ardent had was purchase price; the Mutineer Empower was just over $508 US more expensive per unit.
However, if you’ve already got $9500 then you’ll be unlikely to begrudge the extra $500 for what is clearly the superior luxury sedan! No wonder Bogliq USA is the best known brand in all America!!!
LORE here for those who want to know more…
Buy better, buy Bogliq
(OOC: @VicVictory, let’s find out who will reign supreme this time! 
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1985 Morton Corsair III
After the much-maligned and underpowered second-generation car, Morton’s engineers knew they had to bring back at least some of the performance which was lost in the Corsair’s first redesign. The resulting car, the Corsair III, was powered by a 5.0L V8 driving the rear wheels via a five-speed manual gearbox (as shown here), with a four-speed automatic transmission being optional.
The cleaner, more aerodynamic styling raised some eyebrows, but gave the Corsair III an unmistakable look on the road. And with 225 horsepower on tap, it was less likely than its predecessor to embarrass itself when lining up at the traffic lights against other pony cars.
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To me, the North American malaise scene means “wasted potential” above all else. And there is one car in my lore that proves that more than any other…
The Fleuma MS4. Monocoque body, all-around independent suspension, a very aerodynamic body. Sounds like a nifty cheap sports car, doesn’t it?
Well too bad, because Hugi did not want the Fleuma to garner the attention that could be going to the Rioter. And the MS4 is the most basic, most detuned Fleuma of all. So you also get a 102-horsepower, 2-barrel carburettor 2.2L inline-4; a family car engine going by the nickname of “Steel Severn”.
Even at 920kgs, no miracles could happen in an underpowered MR coupe, one that also offers a predisposition to oversteer…
Prices start at $8804 (with +20 markup), which is slightly pricier than a 1984 Pontiac Fiero Sport Coupe ($8499). But hey, at least it comes with a few extra horses…?
And this also counts as the Fleuma Mk.1’s official debut! Through its weakest possible side, but I didn’t say this was sports driving’s Eldorado (the ad says it, but you know marketing).
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Ah, the smell of Malaise broken dreams… 
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It’s the gift check that keeps on bouncing! 
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OK, so I’m writing right now. Any future entries will be queued for a future publication. These will be more like short stories, rather than articles. I’ve got a few of them mostly fleshed out, needing a little detailed; while others, I’ve got a basic idea for.
Question for the audience:
The stories I have mostly written, are not in chronological order; meandering through Kevin’s life, as the entries evoke feelings of nostalgia. That being said, should I post them as I go, or wait until they are all done, and post them chronologically?
Doesn’t matter much to me. Are the mags on his workbench organized, and is he flipping through them chronologically?
Kevin picked up a Hot Rod magazine issue from 1985. The cover was a Wisconsin Motors Darth Granny X. Kevin chuckled. He remembered that one time Bart Conrad told everyone he was going to be driving one to school everyday.
Shocked. Kevin asked how he was going to manage that. Bart explained that his grandmother had decided it was time to trade in her old jalopy. Bart had convinced her, the Granny X was designed and built for grandparents. Since Grandma Conrad only drove to church on Sunday, and to pick up groceries, Bart explained that he would be free to drive it to and from school every day.
Bart Conrad was the kind of kid, you knew his last words would be, “Hey! Watch this!” Bart was a daredevil, and kind of a dumbass. Like that one time, Bart laid down a trail of gunpowder, and tried to light it and outrun it like Yosemite Sam. Kevin knew Bart well enough to know this was a bad idea.
Bart lived with his grandma. The whole town knew Grandma Conrad. She was always there to give you a kind word and a cookie, or a paddling; depending on which she felt you deserved. It didn’t matter whose kid you were either, Grandma would spank you if she felt you deserved it. Despite her bipolar nature, everyone in town loved Grandma Conrad.There was no way that Grandma Conrad would ever sign off on this; the Granny X was a 245 horsepower, race inspired machine. Kevin just couldn’t imagine her melting her rear tires, on the way to bingo.
Everyone started placing bets on how sore Bart’s rear end would be when he and his grandmother returned from the dealer, after she would’ve realized that Bart had hoodwinked her. Even Kevin was curious about the prospect of an 18 year old man being spanked by his 72 year old grandmother. They casually rode by her house on their bikes and skateboards, waiting for the scene. When they pulled up, Grandma Conrad was driving a 1985 Granny X. Everyone was surprised.
What was more surprising, was that when the passenger door opened, there was a sedate Bart Conrad. He looked paler than usual; like he had seen death. The other kids speculated that they had heard a train horn in the distance; which should’ve been impossible, since the railroad crossing was 5 minutes away, but the train went by only 2 minutes earlier.
Bart wouldn’t talk about that ride, nor would he ever get to drive the Granny X to school; though his grandmother would drop him off in the morning. Bart would quietly climb out of the passenger’s side and walk with his head down, silently to class. Bart got his act together after that. He even raised his grade point average before graduation, and headed off to college.
Nobody is quite sure what happened to Bart. Some say he moved to Los Angeles to become a stunt man, others said he joined the army and was shipped overseas. The last time anyone remembers seeing him, was in 1997, when he returned home for Grandma Conrad’s funeral. He drove away in the Granny X.
Kevin thought about what he could do with the Granny X. It was an instant classic, and a collectors item. The most justice he could bring, he thought, would be to restore it to showroom condition. Sadly, such an undertaking would’ve been well beyond Kevin’s price range. Restorable Granny X project cars, nowadays are well into five figures, with more pristine examples ranging into six figure territory.
editors note:
I forgot to ask for links to mods for submissions, which all but one (I think VicVictory’s) had mods. Rather embarrassed at my lack of forethought, I went to the workshop and subscribed to every UE4 mod. The Granny X however, still had a mod that was missing, so I hope that it didn’t ruin the picture too much.
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The next magazine Kevin picked up, was flipped to a page advertising, what was at the time, the latest British super spy movie; they had since made quite a few more. It had featured prominently, the secret agent’s tech laden, British automobile. Kevin thought back to the first time he had laid eyes on a British import.
Kevin was goofing around in auto-shop, as sixteen year olds were known to do, when Mrs. Lane dropped off her keys with Mr. Sykes, the auto-shop teacher. Mrs. Lane, the kids would gossip, was so uptight, you could put coal in a very uncomfortable place, and get diamonds. She was so cold, everyone in her class wore a coat. Why would she leave her 1978 Epoch Augustus 27 Rex, to be poked, prodded, and pawed upon by a bunch of screw-ups and ne’er-do-wells? Kevin chuckled to himself, “Look at me, using words like ne’er-do-well.”
Mr. Sykes tossed Kevin the keys, and told him to bring it inside. Kevin began humming his own secret agent theme song on his way out to the parking lot. His friends laughed, they would undoubtedly have lyrics by the time he got back.
Kevin unlocked Mrs. Lane’s car, sat in the driver’s seat, and turned over the engine. How was this Mrs. Lane’s car? This car had a sporty stance, a cool spoiler, and the fines pleather seats to ever hug his rear end. This was not the car of a woman who commanded a legion of flying monkeys. Okay, so that’s a bit of hyperbole, everyone knows flying monkeys aren’t real; and if they were, they’d cost more than a teacher could afford.
The engine had a nice guttural roar. He put the car into gear, and as he pulled forward, it had a responsive and smooth feel to it. At the same time, the car felt heavier than it was; it was hard to describe. He looked down at the beautiful wood-grained dash, then down at the premium 8-track. What was this? Iron Butterfly? Inna Gadda Da Vida? Who was this woman?
Kevin had always imagined that Mrs. Lane had a cartoonishly diminutive husband with a push broom mustache, who always responded with a meek “yes dear.” Now Kevin was starting to think that Mrs. Lane was the super secret spy; or perhaps she was the super secret villain. That would explain why she assigned Shakespeare’s Macbeth over summer break, while she was probably off having herself a time at rock festivals.
Kevin brought the car into the garage. He popped open the hood to see a marvelous straight six. Didn’t see many of these anymore. The class, changed the oil, balanced the tires, turned the brakes, and checked the battery. When they were done, there was fifteen minutes left before the bell rang. Kevin volunteered to take it back out, but first, he wanted to take it around the block; you know, to see if everything worked okay. The car was quick on the gas, but the handling was mushy; this is where that heavy feeling came from. It felt like Kevin was steering a boat.
When he got back, he parked it in Mrs. Lane’s assigned spot, and walked back into the building. Mrs. Lane had witnessed the whole thing, and asked Kevin if he enjoyed the experience. Kevin said, “yeah… I guess.”
Then Mrs. Lane told Kevin that she expected a ten page essay about it by Monday morning, or she would call his father. Kevin knew he’d better get writing.
Kevin did his research on this car. Of course, this was before the internet was widely available; but he found a club of Epoch enthusiasts, which happened to have a local chapter. He remembered seeing all the gadgets and add-ons they had. They even had a picture of Mr. and Mrs. Lane with their beauty. Mrs. Lane looked very different with her hair down, and smiling; Mr. Lane, it turns out, was Tony, from Tony’s Used Auto Sales on Whittier Street. Today, the local chapter is gone, but the club still maintains a presence online; where people swap parts and stories. If Kevin wanted to undertake this car as a project, he’d know exactly who to contact.
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An old issue of Driving Trend magazine; the 1983 ‘Car of the Year’ issue. In 1983, that award went to the Ardent Chancellor II, with it’s 4.8 liter V-8. This reminded Kevin of Homecoming 1987, and the two times he almost lost his virginity.
Kevin was just a sophomore, so he didn’t see a lot of playing time during the '87 season; but in the homecoming game, he threw a block that would spring his teammate for the game winning touchdown. They sure sent those Middleton snobs crying back to their cul-de-sac homes.
After the game, Becky VanDecker invited the whole team, cheer squad, and even the flag corps back to her folks’ lake house up north. Becky was only so-so looking, but she was incredibly popular, because she always threw the best parties. Becky then asked Kevin if he’d drive her in her mom’s car, because she didn’t like driving at night. Kevin knew better. He only had his learner’s permit; but nobody says no to Becky VanDecker, and he didn’t want to look like a spazz, so he said “sure.”
Kevin hopped into the driver’s seat of the premium wagon. The inside looked like it was decked out; almost every option Kevin had ever heard of. When he put the key in the ignition, rather than the familiar dinging or buzzing from most cars, there was a voice, saying “the door is open”. Kevin shut his door, buckled his safety belt, and started the ignition. Kevin got on the highway, no sweat. This car practically drove itself.
The whole way there, Kevin felt Becky’s eyes on him; but he was too nervous driving without a license to do anything about it. To break the tension, Becky asked, “do you like Fleetwood Mac?” Kevin answered with some trepidation, “…uh, sure.” Truth is, he did like Fleetwood Mac, but he wasn’t sure about driving with the radio on; after all, he had only logged a few hours driving with his mom, and she never let him have the radio on, while driving. Becky popped in an 8 track of ‘Tango in the Night’. The sound coming from the premium sound system, was amazing.
When Kevin and Becky arrived, the party was already in full swing. There were kids with beer and cigarettes. There were kids that seemed to be going to the bathroom, together. Kevin knew he’d catch all sorts of hell, if his folks found out he was there. It had been a long drive, and Kevin really had to use the bathroom, alone. He excused himself, and wandered the house, looking for the spare bathroom.
He wandered into the master suite, where Mrs. VanDecker was relaxing, with a glass of wine. Upon seeing her, Kevin knew that Becky must’ve gotten her looks from her father, because Mrs. VanDecker was hot, and so classy, he thought; she was drinking wine, not beer. “Excuse me”, Kevin apologized, “I was looking for the bathroom.” “No worries kid. Go ahead. Use the master bath.” She responded.
While he was relieving himself, in the magnificently appointed master bath toilet, Kevin wondered how it was that the VanDeckers could afford two houses, and an Ardent Chancellor, yet were slumming it in Northwood, rather than living it up in Middleton. He finished, washed up, and went back out to thank Mrs. VanDecker; except she was crying. Kevin asked why she was crying. Apparently, Mr. VanDecker had been embezzling money from his employer, and upon being discovered, left his family; this party was going to be her and Becky’s last hurrah, before the bank foreclosed on the place.
Kevin spent the rest of the party, comforting Mrs. VanDecker. On the car ride home, Kevin once again felt Becky’s eyes upon him. This time, instead of an uneasy sexual tension, they felt like burning anger. Stevie Nicks’s voice, no matter what volume, couldn’t drown out the deafening silence. Kevin knew then, he had missed his chance to go into the bathroom with Becky VanDecker.
Six months later, Mrs. VanDecker called, looking for Kevin’s father. She wanted to get her car tuned up, but she could’t afford to take it to the dealer. Kevin explained that his dad was out on a job, and wouldn’t be back until after 6, but that he often helped his dad, and was pretty handy with the wrench himself.
Kevin rode his bike down the mobile home where Mrs. VanDecker and Becky were now staying. Mrs. VanDecker, every bit as hot as Kevin remembered, opened the hood, and went back inside as Kevin took off his shirt, and laid out his tools.
Kevin was not prepared for what he saw next. Though he’s seen it a thousand times since, this was the first time Kevin had laid eyes on a transversely mounted V8. How was he going to do this? All the hoses and belts were up against the wheel well. Kevin saw the four wires leading to the four plugs in the front, but the four wires seemed to disappear between the engine and the firewall. Kevin started to panic.
At six o’clock, he had stalled enough, he had to call his dad. He asked to borrow the telephone, as Mrs. VanDecker was pouring herself another glass of wine. Kevin’s dad showed up a half hour later, and as he looked at the engine, he slapped Kevin on the back and chuckled. “Got yourself in, over your head, didn’t you champ. Is she worth it?” Kevin laughed nervously.
Mrs. VanDecker came out to check up on her car. “How’s it going boys?” she asked, nursing another glass of wine. Kevin looked at his dad, and watched the smile disappear from his face, and then his dad looked back at him with disapproval. Kevin knew he was demoted to flashlight duty.
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An old sports magazine from 1979, had an advertisement for the Albatross 570C. This was Kevin’s favorite magazine. It was the one that had all the models in swimsuits. This one had Cheryl Teague. Ah! The Albatross. Such fond memories. It was the car in which Kevin logged most of his driver’s training hours; his mom’s car.
Ever since Kevin was a child, he remembered his father having a thing about front wheel drive cars. Kevin never understood why. His dad explained that when he was a young man, he was driving a Toronado, around his old stomping grounds of Detroit on a rainy day. Each time he told this story, the circumstances, such as how fast he was going, and how deep the water was, changed, but always ended with Kevn’s dad hydroplaning, and getting into his first, and only accident.
Kevin’s Mother on the other hand, bore no such grudge. When Kevin was 15, she brought home a used Albatross 570C. Kevin’s mom was a nurse, and worked in Grand Rapids, an hour’s drive away; she needed a reliable car. While Kevin’s father was a good shade-tree mechanic, it had gotten to the point where he was spending more time under her old car, than she was in the car. Kevin’s father was not pleased. “Don’t cry to me when you wrap it around a telephone pole” he barked.
Oddly enough, she never did wrap it around a pole. Quite the contrary. Often, Kevin remembered, she’d go to work during the winter, and they’d get some lake effect snow, and she’d have to call his dad to come pull her out of a ditch. This was no longer an issue with the 570C. She would go to work in the morning, there’d be some lake effect snow, and she would come home, a little later than usual, but without incident.
When Kevin got his learner’s permit, his dad wouldn’t let him near his car, or his truck. It was up to Kevin’s mom to let Kevin get practice driving. When Kevin sat in the driver’s seat, the spacious, plush interior enveloped him. He felt like rather than being the son of a nurse and shade-tree mechanic, he was the son of a doctor and engineer; even though the car was 8 years old, it still felt like something an upper-middle class family would ride in.
The car’s tendency to under-steer, as well as his mother’s constant presence in the passenger seat, encouraged Kevin to take every corner extra slow; turning the wheel with a firm hand-over-hand grip. Kevin never really got to test the limits of the Albatross. He wasn’t allowed to take it on the freeway; surface roads only. He wasn’t allowed to try out the 570C’s premium 8 track stereo; his mom didn’t want him to be distracted while he was driving. Still, it was a premium experience, spoiling Kevin for years to come.
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The next magazine he picked up, had an ad for the Gavril Barstow. Kevin remembered his first car. It was an old Gavril Barstow II that he had bought. He had saved almost every nickel and dime, since he was twelve years old. Every lawn he mowed, every walk he shoveled, every baby he sat - okay, the only baby he ever sat - all in a mason jar under his bed.
Almost. He had to dip into his fund a few times, though; like that time he busted the headlight on his dad’s truck, and Kevin had to fetch $5 to replace it. Kevin’s dad promised he’d match Kevin dollar for dollar, but Kevin needed to pay for his own insurance and plate. Factoring $50 for insurance, and $20 for his plate, Kevin was left with $330. Kevin really wanted the 1982 Barstow with the turbo-charger, the same one in the ad; but $660 just wasn’t going to cut it.
Kevin was riding his bike down 180th Avenue, when on the corner, he spied a 1974 Gavril Barstow II for $650. It looked like it was in good shape. He immediately rode home, grabbed his jar, and excitedly told his father all about it. His dad went with him down to the corner, and talked to the man selling the car. Kevin didn’t know this at the time, but his dad had talked the man down to $450, but still expected Kevin to pay his $325.
The Gavril Barstow conjured memories of a by-gone era, in the mid to late 1960s, where the pony car was king. The Barstow II on the other hand, was a shining example of what an oil embargo, crazy insurance regulations, environmental and fuel economy restrictions, coupled with an industry-wide lack of foresight, could conspire to do to a car in its prime.
In many ways, the Barstow II was like Kevin. Kevin was once a strapping lad. Six foot tall, one-eighty, Kevin played tailback on his high school football team; he scored four touchdowns in one game. Kevin was handy with the wrench, and after some growing pains, handy with the ladies, as well. Now, he was a shell of his former self. Kevin weighed in at two-sixty, on a good day, he got winded on the way to the mailbox, and hadn’t seen much action since, well, the day Beth told him she was leaving him. Cars too, it seemed, were passing Kevin by. When Kevin last changed Beth’s headlights, it was a two hour job; taking off the front end and removing the headlight. When he accidentally cracked one of the lenses, he had to replace it; $1,100.
The Barstow II was still a fun car. If you removed all the environmentally restrictive gadgets, and cut off the cat, you could squeeze a few more horsepower out of it. There were a bunch of awesome mods and homemade turbo kits, you could add to restore the Barstow’s roar. Kevin knew if he dropped a few pounds, and took some classes at the tech school, he too could be restored to his own former glory. Almost.
Kevin sold his Barstow II, after graduation, when he joined the Army. He was going to be stationed in Kuwait for a while, working in the motor pool, so he wouldn’t need it. When he got home, he would take his recruitment bonus, and buy his 2nd car, a much newer Barstow.
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Wonderful write-ups! 
I’m loving it!
Really nice writing, friend. Thanks.
And you know the first car’s course.You’ll aways will go back to it.
Kevin saw a picture of an original 1983 Hugi Fleuma. “I remember these”, Kevin said as he smiled. He thought back to when they first came out. “America’s first mid-engine sports coupe”, it was touted. It sounded exotic, like those Italian cars on his notebook covers; the type that you saw on shows about vice cops, and Hawaiian private detectives. Kevin wanted one, instantly.
This enthusiasm waned over the years, as it became known that the engines in these cars were prone to catching fire; something about the conrods and pistons. A parts-bin car, his father called it. Kevin still liked the idea; plus, later models came equipped with a more reliable and powerful V6.
Fast forward to 1988. Kevin made a new friend; Justin Marks. Justin had just moved to Northwoods, and showed up the first day of school, in his 1983 Fleuma. Justin was a really cool guy. Though all the girls gathered around him, Justin didn’t have a girlfriend.
One afternoon, Justin offered to give Kevin a ride home after football practice. Kevin accepted. He got to Justin’s car, and towered over it. “How on earth am I going to fit in there?” Kevin thought. Justin, as if he was reading Kevin’s mind, assured him that it’s bigger than it looks. Kevin climbed in, hitting his head on the way in. Justin was wrong. Once Kevin had shoehorned himself in, the pair rode off together. Kevin and Justin hung out a few times after that, becoming good friends.
One day, Kevin heard some whispers in the locker room; it was about him. He listened in. Was this serious? Did people really think he was gay?
He started home struggling with the thought. He knew he wasn’t gay. He didn’t really see any problem with people who were, but he still had a problem with people thinking he was. Justin drove up, and asked why he didn’t meet him at the car. Kevin told Justin what was bothering him. “Oh! Well, it’s probably because people know you hang out with me.” Justin responded. Kevin was confused. Justin added, “you knew I was gay, right?” Kevin shook his head; he had never thought to ask.
“But, I’m straight”, Kevin responded. “I know” Justin replied, “it’s not like I thought we were dating, or anything.” He slapped Kevin’s shoulder and laughed. Kevin laughed too. Then Justin stopped, and with a straight face, said “or were we?”
Kevin stopped laughing, which made Justin laugh even harder. “Relax man! It’s a joke!” Justin laughed. Kevin felt like a real heel. Not only was he so insecure about his sexuality, that he was about to make a big deal about people thinking he was gay; but now he felt bad about his ignorance towards his friend. Justin reassured Kevin that it was cool.
Kevin would get over the whispered rumors, especially once he started dating Jolene Tanner. Kevin treasured his friendship with Justin; even after high school the two would still occasionally see each other around. They still keep touch via social media.
One of the things Kevin remembered most about the Fleuma, were the body kits; the ones that made them look like Italian super cars. Some were really good, and looked somewhat convincing, but most were downright horrible. He and Justin would look at them in magazines and laugh. Even today, whenever one sees a body kit, they’ll post the picture and tag the other in it. If Kevin found one that was worthy of restoring, he would almost certainly buy a body kit for it.
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Yay, the spirit of a Fiero burns strong in the Fleuma!
…wait, that’s probably not the wisest choice of words for this. 
Joke aside, I’ve been loving all the writeups for this. It’s a bit like a series of short movies on the American car industry, and the people who supported it by driving its cars. And there’s something new in each story, like the Fleuma’s questions about masculinity and the Albatross’s overprotective moms.
And much like its father, the Fleuma is prone to Ferrari-isms. Perhaps I should try my hand at making a Ferrari replica out of one these days…
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Love the review! Glad to see my barge lives up to its squishy reputation.