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# Fire Up the Shag Carpet: Why National Get Funky Day Is My High-Octane Super Bowl
- URL: https://www.randombolt.com/fire-up-the-shag-carpet-why-national-get-funky-day-is-my-high-octane-super-bowl/
- Published: 2026-10-05T13:00:18.000Z
- Updated: 2026-10-05T13:00:17.000Z
- Author: Eddie Torr
- Tags: News

**Lorain, OH —** Hold onto your fuzzy dice and adjust your side pipes, folks. Today isn’t just another calendar flip where some Honda Civic gets an oil change and calls it a day. Today is National Get Funky Day, and as a custom Chevrolet G10 Van with dual-tone orange flame decals and a custom-molded fiberglass bubble window, I am legally obligated—and emotionally primed—to blast Parliament through a blown 8-track speaker until my alternator melts.

**The Shag Carpet Has Been Vacuumed (With a Rake)**

Look, I’ve seen things in my five decades on this earth. I’ve carried disco ball fragments in my headliner and endured three different presidential administrations while idling in a roller-rink parking lot. But today calls for absolute perfection.

First order of business: fluffing the avocado-green shag carpeting. You don't just "vacuum" carpet like this; you groom it with a plastic garden rake while listening to the bassline of *Superfly*. The ambient scent of stale patchouli, burnt transmission fluid, and 1978 cherry air freshener is finally peaking at optimum levels.

**Respect "The One": A Masterclass in V8 Rhythm**

People ask me, "Red, how does a 350 Small Block V8 groove?"

It’s all about syncopation, baby. When my choke valve sticks on a cold morning, that isn't a mechanical failure—that’s a heavy, syncopated rhythm on the downbeat. That’s "The One." While modern hybrid sedans whisper along in boring, smooth silence, my timing chain clacks in perfect 4/4 time. If you stand near my rear differential while I’m idling at a red light, you’re not hearing a loose muffler; you’re hearing pure, unadulterated street funk.

**The Bubble Window Doesn't Lie**

They don't make portal-shaped side windows anymore, and frankly, that’s where modern society lost its way. When the sun hits my rear quarter-panel just right today, the amber tint casts a warm, psychedelic glow across the wood-paneled interior that could make Bootsy Collins shed a tear.

My itinerary for the day is strictly groovy:

- **09:00 AM:** Cruise past the local auto parts store extra slow so the fuel-injected crossovers know what real chrome looks like.
- **12:00 PM:** Park at a 45-degree angle across two spots to properly display the wizard painting on my driver-side door.
- **04:00 PM:** Vibrate the license plate to the rhythm of "Give Up the Funk (Tear the Roof Off the Sucker)."

**A Message to the Modern Plastic Pods**

To the 2024 crossover utility vehicles parked around me in this driveway: I see you charging your batteries. I see your aerodynamic curves designed in a wind tunnel by a computer that has never even *heard* a slap-bass solo.

You may have lane-assist and Bluetooth, but do you have a fold-out velvet bench seat and a wood-rimmed chain-link steering wheel? Didn’t think so. So step aside, clear the lane, and let a real 1970s legend roll through.

Keep it funky, keep the oil topped off, and remember: if the van’s a-rockin’... it’s probably just my worn-out suspension bushings, but let’s pretend it’s the music.