setting under the hood, and a 150 speed-o on the dash.
I will tell you this, it isn't your parents Nash
She has dual carburation, dual exhaust,
after a race I've never lost.
All that sitting under the hood,
lay some rubber betcha I could.
To much power,
to much torque,
you don't want to race me sport!
So get this in your head my friend,
she a Plymouth,
born and bread!
Written By Kevin J. Pochron 7/20/95
Revised 3/17/99
Christine poem
Christine is fiery devil on wheels......
Hunting looking for its prey......
Revenful for its death. But beware Christine
Imminent most likely occur and also Immortality
Salvation it's feeds on.
Takes over the person that loves for her.
Imminent most likely occur and also Immorality
Never will die
Extreme pedel to the metal.
Written and submitted by Melissa Brown
Christine short story
Hello Christine car lovers, my name is Melissa. I will describe Christine, she is a fire demon or devils red car. Nothing can stand in her way. Ready and willing to fight to the death. Her love is under the red-hot spell of pleasure and temptation; she can get jealous of girls that will try to destroy you.
The end
Written and submitted by Melissa Brown
KILLER CAR POEM by Eric Gion
-This is a poem I wrote about my car, a 1959 Ford Fairlane 500 Galaxie, but it fits Christine well.
Show her respect,
And her master too,
Hurt her or him and she'll come after you.
She'll play her love songs,
To lure you inside,
But crossing her threshold is suicide.
Her eyes open,
Four in all,
Bright yellow beams wide and tall.
Two little red lights,
OIL and GEN,
Are actually more eyes to watch you to the end.
Her engine turns over,
And she starts to think dirty,
As her amber blood warms, Quaker State 10W-30.
Don't try to run,
She's never been beat,
She'll rip you to pieces in the middle of the street.
Slowly at first,
Seems calm, but vexed,
She's only thinking of what to do with you next.
Lights turn green,
Her chromed sleek figure agleam,
In anger and hatrid does her V8 scream.
Her nose rears up,
Ignoring the road's rules,
Flames and exhaust roll out her chromed duals.
Glued to the seat,
She's ready to kill,
With the overflowing power of her big block mill.
Glasspacks rumble,
Round tail lights aglow,
My, does that big eight give her get-up-and-go!
She's got a Cruise-O-Matic,
Shifts like glass,
There ain't no car on the road she can't pass.
Now she's in control,
That's understood,
She's got a Thunderbird engine sittin' under her hood.
There's no way out,
No use taking cover,
Her radio plays tauntingly Little Sister and Dream Lover.
