Cars, and, their specialness, Nicknames we have for them,

now, I’ve noticed that many people have names for their car. We had an old Buick Skylark named “Bessie”. My car is named “Ghetto Blaster”, and “Pimpmobile”

so, what kind of names do you got for your car, and what make/model is it?

**** This is EXTREMELY mundane and pointless, Manhattan would kill me if you guys move it to GQ****

The one and only car my family ever named - we got a diesel Rabbit and named it Thumper.

Bad idea. Never name a car with something that can be construed as a mechanical problem.

My husband’s first car was a 90 Lumina named Jessica. It was a fitting name, she felt like a jessica. Unfortunatly he met me a month after he got her. And a person named Jessica is my only and worst enemy in the world. He of course blamed it on that when I crashed it to smithereens. oops!

I have an 88 grand am and haven’t named it yet. and another 90 lumina now that we haven’t named either. I guess that keeps it a proffesional relationship between me and the cars. (they are afraid, very afraid)

I drive an '89 Oldsmobile. I love her to death; she’s my freedom. I named her “Sophia” after my favorite Golden Girl (and since it’s such an old lady’s car, it fits), but all my friends call her “The Beast” since she’s so fucking huge. I call her that when I see a nice space right up front, but I know Sophia won’t fit.

As for special, well, she’s my baby. No one else can come close. I have several bumper stickers:

“Emancipate yourself from mental slavery; none but ourselves can free our minds.” ~ Bob Marley

A UMBC sticker

and my new favorite, an anarchy sticker: “I still believe.”

It was a toss-up between that and the “Why Obey Morons?” one, but I didn’t want to piss off any cops. :slight_smile:

My 1984 Honda Accord hatchback is named Shirley, after Shirley Manson. I love my car very, very much. Which is a good thing, considering how much time I spend on the road.

Shirley Manson, BTW, for those who may be out of the loop, is the singer for Garbage, and I have declared her the only woman on the face of the planet who could make me turn gay. Woof.

I have the cutest li’l red Sunfire, but he hasn’t a name.

The car I remember most fondly though was named Buttercup. She was a very tiny car. I have no idea what make and model she was, but she was… um… you’ll never guess…

uh huh – she was yellow.

Buttercup safely transported four very young girls to high school nearly every day, except on those days when her owner was too sick to attend school or was in the hospital. I wasn’t her owner; Cherie was. Juvenile Diabetes often messed with her schedule.

About two years ago, it took her life. Her life was much too short, but it was rich. I always remember Buttercup when I remember Cherie. I learned so much on that drive to and from school.

My car, a 93 Ford Tempo, is named the Fuzzy Grey Bunny Car of Death. That’s because as soon as I start feeling comfortable with it, something breaks and costs me $500.

My Dad’s Suburban (mid 80s model, all steel and vinyl) is called the Tuna Boat because of its size.

Uh, Frannie, just to be clear, it was the juvenile diabetes that took your friend’s life, right? Not Buttercup. Right?

Oh gosh! I’m not the best writer around – that’s for sure! It was the Diabetes, yes.

(And I’ll bet she’s looking down and laughing very hard right now. Cherie, that is, not the Diabetes.)

A friend of mine has a giant old truck that I have a great fondness for, despite the fact that it once almost killed us all, we weren’t in it and it literally jumped off a cliff while we were camping…it’s unbreakable, it uprooted a midsize tree and only the hood fell off, the thing was undamaged. It’s named Delilah, which is spraypainted on the side, and it’s decorated with grateful dead stuff and antlers, and anything else people decide to stick on it. It can haul anything and survive anything. There’s just something about it that everyone loves.

The first car I ever had; a '65 Plymouth Valiant, cream body, black vinyl top; bought very used; slant 6 even I–the automotive dweeb–could work on; named The Peanut. The “floor vents” were little doors, perfect for chilling cans of Pepsi, it had power nothing and we cruised this whole damned country together.

Retired The Peanut at 200,000+ miles and cried my eyes out. Still have the keys.

Distinctly wry joke on myself: when test driving the Jag–also distinctly used–I settled in; slim steering wheel, dim dash lights, weird buttons and knobs–and chirped, “It’s just like The Peanut!” Horrifed the car types and the Ex, but what the hell.

But I’ve never named a car since.


I named my car (a '91 Audi V8 Quattro) “Hans”… a nice, strong German name with a touch of phlegm.


BTW, my car is a 1984 Oldsmobile Delta 88 Royale (black)

I’m thinking of naming it the Baller Hauler

My first car didn’t have a name. That was the Datsun 260Z I’ve talked about before. My second car came along when I still had the first one. It was a Datsun 240Z and her name was Jessica. Quite fitting for the bitch she was.

She was clean and sexy and black, she looked good and knew it too. But looking good wasn’t enough for her, no way. She resented the fact that she had to share me with the 260Z still, and she just knew the 260Z was a bigger thrill to drive. About the only thing she ever did to please me was to pass the Vehicle Emissions Test each year on the first try.

I was glad when her dainty little sad-excuse-for-a-frame cracked one night while driving down a mountain on a bumpy dirt road.

Now I drive a truck named Ed. He’s red. He doesn’t like to talk much, and prefers to get the job done without anyone taking notice. He keeps a low profile and doesn’t complain. And he’s not so proud as to need more than four or five baths a year.

Back when my primary mode of transport was a Powell Peralta skateboard, my nickname for all my boards was Fly Me Courageous, in honor of a Drivin and Cryin song my band covered that I sang lead on. My first car ws dubbed the Fly Me Courageous III. My current car is the Fly Me Courageous V.

My last bike - an Aprilia RS 250 two-stroke race replica (sigh!) was the “Belladonna”.

Beautiful, but with a temper. Always up for a dance, but you’d better be prepared to lead.

Sure miss that bike. My current Duc is still unnamed, for some reason - usually referred to as “the little yellow one”.

S. Norman, waiting for spring…

My car is a '76 G.M.Holden Kingswood. It’s yellow. And big.

And it’s in near perfect condition… My grandfather bought is 25 years ago and kept it up beautifully. Now it’s mine… all mine BWA HA HA HA.

My friend Luke called it “Car of Death” because weighing in at 2 tonnes something and having quite a high centre of gravity and no power steering, when I first got it I had a hard time controlling it (I’m fine now). Luke wanted to print “Car Of Death” on the front bumber bar, but I refused thinking that if, at some point, I did hit someone, then the last thing that they would ever see is “Car of Death” roaring up to meet them.

Other nicknames for my car:
The Beast
Old Yella
The Car (capitals are important in order to distinguish it from my mothers '99 toyota)
Shitbox (it’s brown on the inside)
Invincible! (exclaimation mark included) and finally,
Holyshitwheredidyouscorethat? from people when they first see it.

I love my car.

The first car I ever drove was an '86 Honda Accord, white, followed by an '87 Honda Accord, wedgewood blue. They both ended up as rusting hulks behind the shed; they both belonged to my dad; they both were driven by me when I was 13 years old… they are collectively known as The Honda, despite the fact that there were two of them. They both had holes in the floor where the passenger is meant to put his/her feet. You had to lift your feet up when we went through a puddle, or your pants would get drenched from mid-calf down.

My first car was a 1986 Subaru GL 4-door sedan, black. Nicknamed “The Bee” – Subaru = Subee = The Bee, get it? Cost me fifty bucks out-of-pocket. I had to replace the brake lines but after that it ran just fine for about six months. Then one day I was driving it to work and it started pouring out thick blue smoke and little bits of flame. We took it home and drove my mom’s minivan to work that day. My dad’s buddy bought it off us for $100 and now it’s enjoying a modestly successful life as a dirt-track racer. It’ll probably go demo derby this summer, though. Bye-bye, Bee.

My current car is an '87 or '88 (sorry, I can’t remember right now) Chevy Cavalier Z-24, black. Digital dashboard, so I gave it the (very presumptuous) name of Kitt… like the Ryder Industries 5000 on Knight Rider. It’s also known as The Chevalier because I always stumble over “Chevy Cavalier” to the point that it has become one word. Right now it only has one side-view mirror… on the passenger side… because I got sideswiped by a guy named something along the lines of Felcher Buttock. I love that car. I would have killed Felcher if he’d done anything other than superficial damage to my Kitt.

I call my Grand Cherokee “The Jeep.”

I call my Corvette “The Vette.”

Pretty boring.

I call my 1984 Toyota Tercel station wagon “The Silver Dustbin” because it used to be silver (most of the paint is gone, bare metal showing through) and the floor in the back seat area is always covered in newspapers, empty water bottles, etc. I really love this car.

Back when I was but a teen, I had this '77 Ford Pinto wagon - silver, with a red and black stripey-deal and a little fishbowl-bubble window on the side. It was very unique, even if it was a piece-o-crap. A buddy and I would call ourselves “The Dukes of Aroostook (the county we lived in)” as we ran out of the arcade, leapt over the hood and sputtered away in the “Sara Lee”.
If you are too young to know about “The Dukes of Hazard”, just forget it.

Another cool car that another friend of mine had was a big ass Buick Something-or-other with a Cadillac engine, dubbed “The Bu-dillac.”