From your adoring family at Oil Slickers Society International (OSSi) Well, well, well... look who let the old goat hit 77 on Pearl Harbor Day. The Japanese couldn't sink you, the rust worms couldn't eat you, and 29 years of leadership in the VW community didn't kill you either. Respect. You've forgotten more about Bay Window Buses than the entire internet will ever know. You can diagnose a sick VW by grabbing the exhaust when it coughs, rebuild a Type-4 engine in the kitchen like you're buttering toast, and still out-cuss, out-drive, and out-party all the whippersnapper kids today that think a water-cooled "Vanagon" is actually a real Volkswagen (it is though, right?) Legend doesn't even cover it, you're the patron saint of 6-rib transaxles, dashchunds, Taco Tuesdays, and never, ever, ever using inch-pattern tools on a metric car. We've watched grown men tear up just saying your name. Grown men who've blown up engines, lost marriages, and sold plasma just to buy one more W decklid, all because Wild Bill once puff-puffed and passed and reassuringly said, "You can fix that, kid!" That's power. That's myth. That's you. So here's to you, you magnificent, oil-dripping, L-Jetronic running, narrow-five-wheeling dude: may your birthday be louder than a loose gland nut, sweeter than fresh non-ethanol gasoline, and may every light stay green to the destination on the next cruise. We'd love to say “act your age,” but nobody's lived to 77 the way you have, so we wouldn't know what that looks like. We love you, you glorious, bearded, old pirate. Now go blow out those candles before the fire marshal shows up... your cake's running hotter than a VW engine with Walmart bag caught in the fan. Happy 77th, boss man! Forever in your oil trail, Oil Slickers Society International