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Watch this garbage truck consume a Pontiac Grand Am

When an old car or truck offers its dying breath in your driveway and you just don't have the financial or mechanical wherewithal to resuscitate it yet again, you traditionally have to go to the trouble of calling a flatbed or a tow truck to come haul it away. That usually helps to put a few bucks in your wallet and helps recycle some of the vehicle's parts, but the transaction doesn't seem as final or perversely satisfying as the dispatch service that this New Way Cobra Magnum garbage truck offers.
Okay, okay, so this refuse hauler isn't actually designed for this sort of thing, but it's oddly comforting to know that a sanitation truck can compact a hapless Pontiac Grand Am into oblivion. Next time, we won't feel so guilty about slipping that rusty charcoal grille onto the curb next to the cans on garbage day. Watch the carnage by scrolling below.

Junkyard Gem: 1987 Pontiac Firebird

From 1967 through 2002, the Pontiac Division offered the Firebird, close sibling to the Chevrolet Camaro. By the third generation, which debuted for the 1982 model year, it became more difficult to tell the two F-body cars apart at a glance and the Pontiac-exclusive engines of the earlier years disappeared, but the Firebird still retained its own personality and its own position in the GM marketing hierarchy. I still find the occasional 1982-1992 Camaro as I search car graveyards for interesting stuff, but the corresponding Firebirds have become scarce in recent years. Here's a base-engine-equipped '87, its Bright Red paint (yes, that was the official name for the color) faded by the Colorado sun as it awaits the crusher. Firebird shoppers had their choice of three engines in 1987: A 5.7-liter Chevy V8 (210 hp), a 5.0-liter Chevy V8 (205 hp) and the same 2.8-liter 60° V6 that went into the Fiero and countless front-drive GM sedans (135 hp). This car has the base engine. The third-gen F-body didn't weigh much (3,105 pounds for the '87 with six-banger, about what a 2020 Corolla weighs), so 135 horses was tolerable. Plenty of these cars got T-5 5-speed manual transmissions, but this one got the two-pedal setup. Camaro wheels, of course. Our Friend the Carburetor didn't disappear from new cars until the early 1990s in the United States, though electronic fuel injection had become very commonplace by 1987. Still, GM considered this car's EFI worth a door-handle brag. It's not worth fixing up a mashed six-cylinder third-gen Firebird, so we can see the route this car took to its final parking space. This content is hosted by a third party. To view it, please update your privacy preferences. Manage Settings. When you're about to be beaten to a pulp by catcalling, Olds-driving thugs, run to the Firebird! This content is hosted by a third party. To view it, please update your privacy preferences. Manage Settings. So much big hair in these late-1980s Pontiac ads! Featured Gallery Junked 1987 Pontiac Firebird View 24 Photos Auto News Pontiac Automotive History Coupe Firebird pontiac firebird Junkyard Gems

This junkyard '91 Grand Am is as hooptie as it gets

I spend a lot of time in junkyards. A lot of time. With all this experience, I have learned to recognize a perfect hooptie when I see one, a car whose final owner got every last bit of use out of it when its value was hovering right about at scrap value. This 1991 Pontiac Grand Am that I spotted in a San Francisco Bay Area self-service wrecking yard a few days ago, from the final model year for the third-generation Grand Am, checks all the hooptie boxes just right. First of all, it's a low-option coupe with the wretched and unloved GM Iron Duke engine, a rattly, gnashy, thrashy 2.5-liter four-cylinder kludged together using off-the-shelf parts from the Pontiac 301-cubic-inch V8 during the darkest years of the Malaise Era and used in cars whose buyers just didn't care. Most of the paint has been burned off by 25 years of harsh California sun, but the car spent sufficient time in a damp, shady spot for lichens to build up here and there. There are skeletons-with-sombreros stencils sprayed here and there, plus a big moonshine-guzzling skeleton mural painted on the hood. Goodbye, property values! Still, someone felt some affection for this car, giving it the name "Good Ol' Snakey" and painting that name on the decklid. We can assume that the Iron Duke was a bit loose by this time, probably leaving a serpentine trail of blue smoke behind the car at all times. So, the combination of cheapness, ugliness, menace, and who-gives-a-damn functionality make this Grand Am an excellent example of a pure hooptie. Within a couple of months, it will be crushed, shredded, shipped out of the Port of Oakland, and reborn in China as refrigerators and Geely Emgrands. Somewhere in Northern California, though, a few of Ol' Smokey's friends will remember this car fondly.