You want to sell a 1995 Pontiac Grand Am… all you need are unicorns and a tap-dancing messiah!

My bud Bailey Williams tweeted me this little gem.

According to, someone in Seattle wanted to sell a 1995 Pontiac Grand Am.  But if you’ve ever seen the bare-bones Craigslist format, you’re not likely to get that excited over the listings.  So what this enterprising young soul did was to take pictures of the Grand Am – and, using photo-editing software and some graphics programs, created a hokey-smokes advertisement for the car itself – complete with big bad unicorns, references to a tap-dancing Jesus Christ, and claims that anyone who buys this chick wagon will become an instant chick magnet.

Chicks, man…

So anyways…

Although the original Craigslist advertisement was flagged for removal, someone was fast enough to capture the graphic blandishment you see below.  So, if you’re willing to travel to Seattle to purchase a Kool-Aid blue 1995 Grand Am for $700 – complete with steering wheel, broken head gasket and an affinity to travel with Pegasus and dance with the Son of God… then this car is most definitely for you.

Originally hosted by, from

If you’re having trouble reading some of the fine print – of course, that’s an issue when buying any car – I’ve re-typed some of it for you.

Never in your life has a car made you so appealing to the opposite sex. From its provocative curves to the paint job that says, “Screw you, I’m a car,” this 5-speed ’95 Pontiac emanates manilness from every loosely-coupled peice [sic] of sheet metal.


This was the car that broke Pontiac. When it came off the production line, each person in the company had a collective aneurysm from the visual masterpiece with which they had blessed humanity, and gave up entirely…

“I know what you’re asking yourself, “Am I man enough to handle a car this flawless?” The short answer is no. I tried to be. I grew my beard to unreasonable lengths, trimmed my fingernails with belt sander, ate nothing but lumber for 6 straight days and knocked a polar bear unconscious. The car chuckled at my failed attempt at manliness, and became so bloated with testosterone that it literally blew a head gasket. Oh, right, you’re definitely going to have to fix that.


Look at you. YOu don’t even know what to do with yourself right now. Well, take a deep, masculine breath, and pick up the phone. Once this car is taken, every woman on the planet will pile into it, and you’ll be SOL. Call Joe.

Wow.  A windshield wiper-fluid blue Grand Am.  Yeah… I think I’ll pass.

But if Joe had a 1991 Pontiac 6000… then I’d certainly call Joe for that. Because everyone knows that the Pontiac 6000 was the REAL babe magnet.