TW/CW: Some cussing
Seller’s Rating: 🌟
For Sale: $4500 Firm, 1985 Buick Grand National GNX
**Please read the entire ad before you inquire**
The time has come for me to sell my 1985 Buick Grand National, and before you give me any shit about selling an actual legend of a car, just keep reading. Especially you Barbara Jean, this is not an invitation for you to come on my property again, you white trash, homewrecking floozy.
If you find it necessary to message me to ask for more pictures of the car and its blemishes you should know that there is no way for me to document the unseemly pair(s) of underwear left in the glove compartment without this platform censoring me. So you’ll have to trust my memory of what the interior looks like.
Color: Black. This car has never come in any other color, as this is the way that God intended a car of this nature to be. If you know anything about the Buick Grand National, you’ll know they’ve only ever come in black paint. Black is the superior paint color, a work of art.
Unlike those filthy pictures Barbara Jean sent to my lying, cheatin’ ex-husband Bobby via her AOL email account. Get with the times you hussy, everybody uses Hotmail now.
That’s right Barbara Jean, I saw that terrible excuse of a butterfly tattoo on your left tit. My granny says it ain’t proper to say the word tit, but if there’s a tattoo on it, then it’s only fair I call it what it is. A tit, with a tat.
Original paint job, maybe a little rust in the wheel arch, but it ain’t nothing a little WD-40 won’t help scrub out. Hell, slap a little Arm & Hammer baking soda toothpaste in there and it might just shine. Don’t worry Barbara Jean I won’t let the buyer use your toothbrush to scrub the interior since you don’t even own one. Everyone around here knows you’re as toothless as a naked mole rat.
Interior: Top of the line cassette deck with AM/FM radio and CB radio too. Don, down at Big Don’s Pawn Shop can vouch for its quality. He picked it up at a police auction from cars seized in a major drug trafficking ring. Bobby and I used to call the stereo Cocaine Jesus, but you should know that there is no way this Grand National will bring you any sort of salvation in this town, unless you plan to buy it and drive right on outta here on Highway 226.
Be aware that every once in a while when the air conditioning kicks on, powder puffs out the cassette opening and suddenly every word singing from the stereo sounds like the guy up above himself. The car has a pick me up sort of quality to it.
This is a black four seater. Spacious in the front seat it is not. There isn’t much of a distance between the passenger and the driver, but the proximity allows you to sit near your loved one while driving the main drag on a Friday night. The option of having easy access to his button fly or his carotid artery, is up to the buyer’s discretion.
Original upholstery, except for the back seat where I’m damn certain Barbara Jean and Bobby left their ichor and sweat. It’s called antiperspirant y’all. If you buy this car, you can holler at my ex, Bobby when you see him down at The Hamburger Hut and tell him he owes you a good shampooing in the backseat. He knew I kept an old Budweiser towel in the trunk for such occasions. Man couldn’t be bothered to hide his indiscretions or his nasty body secretions.
Aside from the stank from the skank, the interior is in top condition.
Under the hood: Well, you might assume that just ‘cause I’m a female I don’t know much about what’s under the hood, but you’d be mistaken, unless of course your name is Bobby. That man could never find anything under my hood if you catch my drift. The GNX can outperform any man in this town. If you're gonna put anything exciting between your legs, let it be the torque that comes with this car.
This Grand National can haul ass from 0-60MPH in under five seconds, and finish out a quarter mile in less than fifteen seconds. The car and Bobby have the same motor speed, but one is better suited for a car than a man.
I know what you’re thinking–
Why would I sell an actual legend of a car? Why get rid of a Buick GNX when everyone else around here drives some mishmashed up version of a Lamborghini Panawagan? Why do I have a one star rating? Where did my marriage to Bobby Lee Jones go wrong?
Two words: Barbara Jean.
Besides, nothing would hurt Bobby’s feelings more than me selling his Grand National for a nice little down payment on one of those fancy electric cars. I heard they’re as quiet as a church mouse, and they go from 0-60 MPH in less than five seconds too, sort of like my GNX. That’s just enough time for me to let my new bumper kiss the backside of Bobby Lee when he gets done at his shift deep frying his life away without him even knowing I'm coming.
Manual, 5 Speed.
Chain link steering wheel.
This car is old enough to know every single word to “Your Love,” by The Outfield and has its own built in alarm system, as it will honk incessantly if you bump the passenger door just right.
I’ll throw the fuzzy dice hanging from the rearview mirror for free.
**Full disclosure: This car is my one true love. The only reliable thing in my life. It will be the only thing that will truly love you back, as she has loved me better than Bobby ever could. It will likely outlast any hookup or marriage you ever subject yourself to. Hell, if it wasn’t for the snail trail on the backseat I’d keep the damn thing for myself.
A Buick Grand National will never judge you, how could she? Unless you happen to pick up Barbara Jean down on the corner of the main drag and Cherry Ave.... and in that case you might be better off borrowing your mom’s station wagon and staying far away from this black four seater.