Eight years ago, in the guise of helping out a friend (and doing something with the most questionable gift I’ve ever been given), I started to work on a theft-recovery 1990 Ford Aerostar that I nicknamed the PedoVan. It was gross beyond gross, ran like crap, was culturing at least four different strains of mold in the interior and I’m all but proof-positive that the power steering pump was filled with human urine. Why the hell would I touch such a dumpster-fire? The friend was going through hard times, sold his prized pickup to pay some bills for his family, and could use a second vehicle. All I wanted to do was to destroy the Eddie Bauer edition tweaker special in a blaze of glory, so it seemed like the right thing to do for a good guy. Unfortunately, neither one of us got our way…the van was stolen AGAIN and was probably sold off for scrap weight.

The Aerostar I had couldn’t pass a smog check in Washington State if it tried, barely ran well on it’s best day and on it’s worst day, almost made me into a hood ornament for a Kenworth dump truck. Between that, every injury I ever got from the disgusting thing and my general psychotic hatred at not being a simple fix, all I wanted to do was to beat the ever, unholy hell out of it until it quit moving. Something kind of like what happened to this Aerostar at the Clark County Fair. Give the people-hauler one moment of high-flying glory before the shitshow came crashing back down to Earth in a fiery end, and wave goodbye with a smile as the flatbed hauled the mangled remains to the jaws of the crusher.