el jefe

he wouldn’t give it up.

“That 911’s a ’72…the external oil filler flap right behind the passenger side door gives it away. Did you know that? You can’t call yourself a Porschephile if you didn’t! It was the only year a production 911 would employ a feature Piëch developed for the 911R. So technically, you…”

I was trying to shake this motherfucker off me. like a tick, he latched on trying to bury his head into my skin while pounding my ear with condescension. I had enough of this guy’s bullshit; I barked...


el jefe

they skimmed it.

those sonsofbitches.

why even bother writing a goddamn book on the Grande Dame and not dedicate at least a chapter to the Weissach Edition? apparently she was only worth a few half-assed sentences peppered with an option code, the color, and that it came with some luggage.

what a disgrace.


e̶l̶ ̶j̶e̶f̶e̶

she drifted in without a sound.

I went limp giving no resistance as Death gently embraced and lifted my soul away from its shell. she’d cut me loose into the black that gave way to the brightest sun no one can bring back as a souvenir.

the most beautiful dream was waiting to take possession of my soul in exchange for a reality I’d spent a lifetime pursuing.


e̶l̶ ̶j̶e̶f̶e̶

my woman had gotten home before me. I was busted.

she’d surely catch the scent of the nasty girl I had spent the day with. I was too exhausted for the salvo of questions she’d start asking in haste. 


e̶l̶ ̶j̶e̶f̶e̶

please click on the image to view the art

el jefe

calling this work of art a "shooting brake" is like calling a 944 a "hatch back;" it's a ruined orgasm...like hearing the voice of your momma from the distance calling out for you while receiving a terrific blowjob by the town hussy in the park down the street because it's past your curfew. 

DP knew such a trite expression used by tight lipped English old farts to describe "a mode of transport for sporting gentlemen, their rifles, and a couple of hounds" could no longer apply to such a revolutionary car. instead, they chose a more pragmatic term that cuts through the upper crust horseshit -Cargo.


words and shots by pablo deferrari

“what do you think?”

“it’s fucking incredible Jason; it’s like the 968 where it has this linear pull from just under two grand, yet it pulls and pulls and keeps on pulling ‘til you either run out of road or balls.”

I had to think for a moment before he asked me that question…I almost never do that. 


el jefe

"...she was very tight. I slipped it in even further. Her grip was unbelievable. As I rammed it in I suddenly got a stitch in my side, a terrible burning pain, but I continued. I was slicing her in half, right up the backbone. I roared like a madman and came."

it was at that exact moment, for reasons unknown, when the Rothman's limited edition 944 flashed in front of my mind's eye. it's the cross I bear I suppose; my obsession with Porsche history is such that random vignettes of it suddenly appear at the oddest moments—like this one; while reading the exploits of Bukowski in his book entitled Women.


words by pablo deferrari

the heart of what would become Porsche's savior in the 924 is this EA831 motor
it's very easy for those choosing to wade in the shallow pool of 924 history to suggest its engine as merely that of the lowly VW LT series vans, all well and good if yours is a decision to establish such a fact to those less interested. I, on the other hand, prefer the deep end of it because with it lies the dangers of the unknown fathoms, the unverified facts, and of course the risk of getting entangled in its murkiness. 






words by pablo deferrari

right…suppose you had a small Porsche collection, and you had about, oh say, sixty grand lying about that you’ve decided to halfheartedly earmark for another vintage Porsche—but then a flashback occurred.

while sitting at the dentist’s office leafing through a dog-eared car magazine, an image captured your fancy…it was a Ferrari. it didn’t matter that it was an F12 Berlinetta, their latest offering. what rekindled your long lost passion with Maranello’s pride was the chrome prancing horse placed smack-dab in the center of its grille.

you vividly remember that as a kid, you were instinctively drawn between the two Marques that to this day are loved one and the same by any red-blooded car enthusiast. in your head, you might have had a favorite which is why Porsches grace the grounds of your estate. deep down, however, you always had a soft spot for the Italian exotic that drove men into the depths of lunacy.

this becomes a problem.