No, I’m not going to explain myself. It’s a 60’s Mercedes 250S. It’s also a Ute. And it’s also a holly carb’d Chevy 350 swapped boomer mobile.

Please hold your questions till the end. I promise you they probably will go unanswered.

Oh classic Mercedes, your build quality still makes me blush. No I’m not going to mention the carpets. And no, contrary to what that lever suggests, it’s not a stick, but a patented GM-shlush-o-matic. Most the gauges work too which is impressive for what this contraption is. The Mercedes bits in here are still quite nice, as you sit in your Benz-branded couch chairs and command those around you from behind the wheel of this beast. Oh those cup holders and that center consol area? Oh that’s custom. And also horribly crammed on in there too. Because no matter how nice this car once was, the true pinnacle of luxury is convenience, and convenience means being able to bring your McFlurry on the road.

Just to break the article for bit, while writing, someone ran into the bathroom stall next to me mumbling to himself in tongues, pissed, and ran out as fast as he could. I love the college experience.

Somewhere in the gauge cluster, an aftermarket oil pressure gauge was added. The fake chrome summit racing gauge really contrasts well with the chrome tach and speedometer on Mercedes’ original design.

I will not be discussing the exterior yet. Drag your eyes away from the rear, let’s go under the hood.

Oh baby! Look at those headers!

Not too dissimilar to whatever an 80’s Camaro had, this Chevy 350 breathes through some random fucking carb, makes an undisclosed (*edit, unprooven*) amount of real, American horsepower. I don’t wanna know what went into making this abomination work.

The bed? No no, first let’s drive the damn thing!

A boat is more precise. Welcome to the 60’s, they’ve been waiting for us.

Your steering wheel is massive, bus-like in size, and you will need to rely on all of it. On center it’s no man’s land, and turning isn’t much better. It’s a steering free-for-all, where the creature gives you feedback, and that’s part of the problem. You know what it’s doing, but also don’t. You’re turning with one hand, whippin’ tha thang from corner to corner like a South Carolinan in a squatted truck.

Fittingly, it also has the turning radius of a truck. Taking all of two lanes plus a drive way to make a U turn. But instead of subjecting yourself to the indecency of allowing traffic to catch up to you, straighten the wheel and get on the gas. With a shout of old angry, the creation surges forward, bellowing it’s cry, nay it’s pleas to the deaf ears that pretend to listen. This is no quite Mercedes; petit, comfortable, and with composure, bringing your demanding ass home without complaint. No no, this car, hacked up and re-welded, with a heart transplant and a past it keeps to itself, takes you for a ride as it pleases. You aren’t in control, sitting bottom bitch as the car takes over.

So grab on to that wheel, because while it isn’t modern day fast, it’s clearly accelerating way faster that this chassis wants to. But instead of protest, you wind up with rebellious complacency. Vague steering 60’s met with 70’s American muscle… ok to be fair that’s probably not much different to an El Camino of we’re honest. The wheeze turned roar yells at you, transmission slushing away, oh what this thing must look like from the outside.

People look on in confusion, puzzled looks and thumbs up from people who’s poor minds can’t fathom whatever the original creator of the El Mercino was thinking (or smoking).

Soon after that jaunt, the Ute in all but name is brought back to port, backed in amongst the bush, waiting to turn a wheel in anger and confusion.

So, let’s address the obvious. Someone owned a 1966 Mercedes 250S, and instead of suffering the indignity of buying a pickup truck, decided to have the best of both worlds. Because what is luxury if not convenience right? So off went the B pillar, rear doors welded shut, and bed liner put down. Why the engine swap? Fuck you, Chevy 350, don’t ask stupid questions. This is America, we don’t have to make sense. And obviously, it’s still a Mercedes, so it keeps an automatic. No one except the original creator knows why it exists. And although many of my friends are deranged when it comes to cars, sadly none of them are the creators of the El Mercino.

But one does own it, and uses the bed for its intended purpose. And while and old Chevy or Ford would be cheaper, and a Toyota would make more sense for the price, none of those actual trucks will bring the attention and smile inducing feeling of crushing around in this… thing. Aside from the weird bits added to the interior, most of it is still Mercedes. So everything is nice and the car rides comfortably, paired to the fun of an old American v8. And you can be baller as hell hauling lumber and mulch from home depot to wherever it is you’re going. It’s a unique enough experience as a whole to justify its existence, made up of enough classic car ingredients to let it stand out from driving whatever this car and that drivetrain would have been like on their own. It’s fun, if not really damn confusing.