Gosh - Steve Davis?  Hollywood Steve Davis, the guy who sits on stage in
the shades, gesticulating into his phone handset as if he is Jesus
multiplying the loaves and the fishes?  f.ck that clown.  I get so
disgusted watching that coverage on TV and yet it's like a train wreck,
I can't help but watch.  There was a time in my life when I hoped I
could have a '66 or '67 'Vette.  It's a car associated with strong
positive childhood memories.  At this point, the only way I could get
one now is to rob a bank.  The prices have been driven up so high by
testosterone stroke shows like B-J that even replicas - like that
"Yenko" Camaro restofake - fetch over $100K.  How sad.  I'm all for the
making of money.  I probably won't jab at somebody over how they made
it, either, unless it's truly a despicable story.  But if they're one of
the nouveau-riche bozos at B-J milling around the stage or sitting in
the front rows wearing leather pants or overalls and a shiny red
polyester Chevrolet jacket, cocktail sloshing while driving up the
bidding on the car just like the one they borrowed from Daddy the night
they first shot their wad on Betty bl.wj.b - f.ck them.

I can't wait for the muscle-car version of the great Ferrari price
freefall 20 or so years ago ... but I really don't think it's coming
this time.  There's just too much new money.  The middle class is
drawing its last breaths.

Martin writes a short column for Autoweek, I think he is highly
respected.  And for that, he gets tossed.  Gosh, B-J, somebody actually
dares to call your bluff.  Get the goons ...