Speaking of kill stories...
One day I was driving with my buddy in the car, and this old dude in a Porsche pulled in behind us in a left turn lane. We both made the turn, then at the next light, he pulled up beside us. My buddy's a big Porsche guy, so we were both looking over at the car. I don't even remember what it was. It could have just been a boxter, but it may have been a 911. Who knows, they both look the same, anyway.
Anyway, it was a convertible, so I got a real good look at this guy. Picture a stereotypical old dude, and this was it. He had the old dude clothes to a tee... flowery polo shirt, short khaki shorts, goofy cap, I could even see his high, bunched up tube socks. The best part, though, was his leather driving gloves. They perfectly accented the rest of his attire.
So this old dude sees us checking out his car, so when the light turns green, he takes off. I gunned it, too (except not--by "gunned it" I mean accelerated at an economical pace similar to the one I take when I'm trying to save gas). My friend and I laughed as the old dude sped off. And my E34 got smoked by a Porsche.
Okay, so not really a kill story, but we let an old dude show off for us, and I'm sure that made him happy. I guess that's more amiable than most kill stories.
Ouch on the Camero. Sorry to see that.
I guess when it comes to muscle cars, I'm a Chevelle guy myself, since I learned to drive on a '71 SS.