This bout of manic, faux-drugged madness was spurred by an innocent discovery of a 1981 ad for Cutty Sark whiskey, starring a certain John Z. DeLorean.

Ah, yes, 1981! An innocent year, one that was full of hope for young John Z (be careful to distinguish the syllables), whose eponymous DeLorean had just begun to take over the world of flamboyant automotive showboating. But across the ocean from Belfast, in sunny Wilmington, Calif., Gerald "Jerry Garcia" Wiegert was embarking on a dangerous journey himself, full of hope and investor ass-kissing. He had just built his first supercar, the Vector W2, which had twin turbos duct-taped to a small-block Chevy for a total of 600 horsepower. It could go 200 mph, said Wiegert, which would be useful for escaping duped investors and running towards new ones, running so far away.

The Kings of the Automotive World in the 1980s were DeLorean and Wiegert. The kings of wedges, synthesizers, bad taste, speed, style, flagrant underboobs falling out of Members Only jackets (which they still make!). This isn't the Kings of Comedy, however; there can only be one. I innocently claimed the mantle for John Z. DeLorean, by tweeting the following:

Upon which a challenger rose from the desert, approaching at a speed sufficient to shake fiberglass panels helter-skelter:


This proxy Contender for the Cocaine Throne would be Kurt Niebuhr—fellow automotive scribe and photo editor. He took the path of Wiegert and turbocharged vaporware, foolishly believing that he could dethrone the man who sired the car that launched a thousand Marty McFly fandoms. Hah! There could be just one way to settle this: a Coke-Off. DeLorean supplied the product, but Wiegert seemed to not need any. Remember: don't get high on your own supply.

DeLorean: We fight on my terms. You know the rules. Let the Coke-Off begin. *rips bag open with penknife*

Wiegert: Super. That bag of heaven just cost you a G. Snort up. I just twin turbo'd a small block Chevy.


DeLorean: My boys in Belfast are gonna Wankel your ass with the DMC-12. You just wait.

Wiegert: Malcolm Bricklin called. He said you're crazy. Oh, I just made up the name Aeromotive. Aero. Motive.

DeLorean: Did you know the DMC logo is the same BACKWARDS AND FORWARDS? Did you get any overspray on your tires when you painted your only prototype from eye-searing teal to eye-searing purple?


Wiegert: Teal?! I didn't use Teal until the W12. In the 90's. Good on you cracking on paint colors. What colors are your DMCs?

DeLorean: Have you seen the gold DMC? It's not puerile, it's classy and sophisticated. Like me. And my whiskey. Hold on, my suitcase is all out of baggies. Let me call Jimmy Hoffman.

Wiegert: Nice. The doors accentuate your eyebrows. Know what you're missing? A topless chick [NSFW, obviously].


DeLorean: You can tell by my Ming The Merciless eyebrows that I am intrigued but not impressed.

Wiegert: I don't care where she's from or where she's going. Only that my 625-hp car looks rad.

DeLorean: Seriously, feel this hood. It's as smooth as the yoni on that 15-year old girl you call a "model."


Wiegert: I'd love to, but I tripped and fell into that wheel gap.

And so on, and so forth. There's an exciting and thrilling conclusion to this battle of plaid stallions, culminating with the arrival of Giorgio Moroder, that four-eyed dork. For even more and wholly sensical references to Ollie North, nubile Vector models, Operation Urgent Fury, fingerless gloves, Cristina Ferrare, Tab, Finnegan's Wake (Joyce was Irish, but not that kind of Irish), Cracker Jacks, the Talbot Tagora, and other vital topics of note, read the full version at