How long was it before the wife got to come insideI’ve had my Maverick for about 5 months and I absolutely love it. I park it outside my front window so I can walk over and look at it whenever it pleases me. The last time I was this giddy is when I met my wife. Sorry for the negativity but it’s the way I feel.
I can relate. I keep mine clean on a weekly basis. I'm always looking at it even when I am doing yard work. The design of the Maverick caught my eye when it first came out. I don't mind vehicles with a squared or boxed off look. I like sitting up high and being able to see the ground ahead of me while driving. I think the Maverick came out just when I was looking for a truck.I’ve had my Maverick for about 5 months and I absolutely love it. I park it outside my front window so I can walk over and look at it whenever it pleases me. The last time I was this giddy is when I met my wife. Sorry for the negativity but it’s the way I feel.
You got me with this one. I was expecting some negative rant from someone with unrealistic expectations complaining about something that they could have detected with a test drive but either bought it without test driving it or ignored it until after they had it a few days.I’ve had my Maverick for about 5 months and I absolutely love it. I park it outside my front window so I can walk over and look at it whenever it pleases me. The last time I was this giddy is when I met my wife. Sorry for the negativity but it’s the way I feel.
Me too. And I really don't mindAnd you took the bait
After six months I still like the looks but I get my rocks off on how,
So it appears that Louie kept the nipples more polished than the body of his bumper! What was he thinking??? I wonder if he had tassels or anything else for them???This thread got me thinking of a time before I was around, so I'm sharing this story with you about, well, you'll see...
In a sunbaked corner of Arizona, where the desert wind sometimes carried the scent of old motor oil and mesquite, lived a man named Louie “Chrome” Cardinale. His modest garage was more like a museum—filled with glistening metal, tailfins sharp enough to slice air, and enough whitewall tires to start a parade. But of all the mid-century marvels he adored, one feature made Louie downright giddy:
Dagmar bumpers—also known as bullet bumpers, or bumperettes.
To Louie, they weren’t just chrome lumps sticking out from the front end of a ‘55 Cadillac. No sir. These pointed protrusions were the crown jewels of 1950s automotive design—bold, brash, and cheekily inspired by the figure of TV personality Dagmar, who was known for her… shall we say, eye-catching silhouette.
“I mean, c’mon,” Louie would say, leaning back in a creaky lawn chair, sipping a root beer float like he was ten years old again. “You look at a modern car and it’s got no soul. No curves. No guts. But these—these bullet bumpers? They talk to ya.”
He’d polish them until they gleamed like a soldier’s brass buttons, admiring how the sun danced off each chrome cone like it was flirting with him.
Kids in the neighborhood didn’t get it—at first.
“Why does your car have torpedoes on the front, Mr. Chrome?” one asked, eyes wide.
Louie grinned. “Those ain’t torpedoes, kid. Those are Dagmars—bullet bumpers. They’re from a time when America wasn’t afraid to show off a little. When a car had curves, confidence, and a front end that said hello there before the horn even did.”
And every now and then, he’d slow dance in the garage to a scratchy Nat King Cole record, gazing at the gleaming chrome cones like they were old flames.
Because for Louie—and for anyone who remembers the glory days of Detroit—those bullet bumpers weren’t just decoration.
They were declaration.
Spinners, maybe… IDK
U got it bad son !Hello baby. I’ll be out soon to take you for a drive. Your belly is near empty and I need to feed you:
