Killing the Ouzo Thread or Can you top this.

[Kevin.FILLIP@domain.elided]

     While cleaning out the trunk of my '91 164 this past weekend I found a 
     passed out Alfa factory worker with the name "Cheech" stitched on his 
     Alfa overalls, living in the spare wheel well of my car. He was of 
     course surrounded by hundreds of empty Ouzo, Grappa, Galiano, Chianti, 
     Sambuca (fill in the blank) bottles. 
     
     After smacking him in the head with a spare GTV-6 coolant overflow 
     bottle which I happened to have lying around to awaken him from his 
     stupor, Cheech apologised for the mess but explained that he had tried 
     without success to dispose of the bottles through the gas filler door 
     but was unable to find the hidden release string in the darkness of 
     the trunk. Having nothing stronger then Lone Star beer on hand to 
     offer Cheech we proceeded to argue the relative merits of Spica versus 
     carbureted Alfas. Cheech of course was a big proponent of carbs as 
     they created more room in the engine bay of the car for he and his 
     slovenly co-workers to throw/stuff/jam/dispose of any and all 
     breakfast/lunch/dinner/happy hour refuse which they might happen to 
     have on hand. 
     
     Cheech then related to me how in a moment of particularly drunken 
     frivolity one Friday afternoon, his fellow assembly workers had poured 
     a litre of 180 proof Super Vitorio Morto grappa down his throat 
     causing him to pass out, whereupon they had locked him the trunk of my 
     car just after it had come off of the line. They then of course had 
     flung the empty bottle of Super Vittorio Morto inside the open stepper 
     motor space. Finding himself alone and a stranger in the United States 
     he had struck a deal with the sympathetic prior owner who had agreed 
     to allow him to continue residing in the trunk in exchange for 
     periodic calls to ARDONA to plea/curse/swear/gripe in Italian at them 
     over their failure to fix warranty items and their cowardly exit from 
     these shores.
     
     Cheech gleefully explained to me how he and the boys took particular 
     pleasure in trying to install steering racks and radiator fan switches 
     first thing Monday mornings while hungover from a weekend swilling 
     cheap red wine at the AC Milan matches. One of their favourite games 
     was to see who could throw an oil pressure sending unit the farthest 
     down the line before installing it in a car with a ball peen hammer.
     
     Before taking his leave, Cheech warned me that any strange 
     clinking/clanking/clunking/thunking/noise/sound emanating from the 
     car, especially the front suspension, could easily be traced to empty 
     liquor bottles/watches/garbage/etc. Climbing into his girlfriend's 
     Yugo Behemoth SUV Cheech waved to me one last time before throwing up 
     on himself after chugging a hip flask of Strega. 
     
     Ciao
     
     Kevin Fillip
     Dallas, Tejas  
     

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