By Dr. Bentley
L ooking at James Ruhmel’s ’97 Mitsubishi Eclipse GST Spyder, it’s hard to believe that such a naughty machine belongs to a policeman. Well, technically, James isn’t a policeman quite yet; he’s still in training as a cadet. It’s all the same to me though, because when I think of cops (or cops in training), I don’t picture their private vehicles as being something so openly mocking and contemptuous of the driving laws as James GST Spyder. Something along the lines of an ’80s Buick Grand National with the windows tinted very, very black seems more appropriate to the profession. In fact, James owning this Mitsubishi seems as unethical as a priest operating a strip club (an especially dirty one where the dancers gold teeth are prone to falling out and landing in your drink; Hm…memories from Carlisle, Daniel?—SC)
The first thing you notice about James’ GST Spyder is the Blitz body kit. The sculpted front end seems purposely built for scooping hapless puppy dogs off the pavement and then feeding them to the grinning GReddy turbo intercooler. The eye is then drawn back and up to the GTR/A Aero rear wing and, once you wander over to the rear end, you discover the customized taillights, abrupt and stunted like a nine-year-old chain smoker. All this, coated in a shimmery layer of Evening Blue/Purple Pearl PPG paint.
“So, James,” I ask, “Those Police Academy movies—damn fantastic, aren’t they? Say, is ol’ Mahoney still around, you know Steve Gutenberg? I imagine they’ve promoted him to Captain by now. And how about that Larvelle Jones, does he still do that crazy beat-box thing? Man, you must have so much fun.”
James didn’t answer; instead he suddenly decided to demonstrate one of his take-down moves and securely fastened my face to the windshield. From there, I got a good view of the customized panel in the Mitsubishi’s dash with its two Auto Meter gauges, GReddy turbo timer, and Eclipse 7002 monitor. The glove compartment was open, revealing the relocated air conditioner and heater controls. An NOS bottle was snuggled in the space where the rear seats used to be.
“Nice Sony PlayStation and Clarion VCR, James. Uh, let me go, please.” James responded by twisting my left arm against my back and wrenching it painfully.
“What about the Eclipse 7002 head unit and 12-disc CD player?” he asked. “I’ve also got an MTX 5000 amp and there’s two 10-inch Boston Acoustics Pro Series subwoofers in the trunk. What do you have to say about that, civilian?”
“Top notch all the way,” I whimpered. James released his grip and I slid off the Spyder’s hood. I fell into a heap on the ground and took note of the Eclipse’s molded side skirts and custom vents. I also took a moment to admire the 18-inch Volk TE-37 wheels and could just make out the dark lurking shapes of Eibach race springs and Tokico shocks. I tried crawling to safety, but got as far as the Hayame exhaust and passed out.
When I awoke, James and the GST Spyder were gone. All that was left was an empty space where the car’s Nitto Extreme tires had previously rested. That James, such a kidder. He apparently took the liberty of handcuffing me nude to a fence while I was unconscious. I was glad James would soon be on the police force. With the likes of him, Moses Hightower, and Eugene Tackleberry out on the streets and getting into hilarious misadventures, the world is definitely going to be in safe hands.