I’ve been a Mopar nut since before I could legally drive—blame my old man. He bled Pentastar blue, and our garage was a shrine to Dodge and Plymouth misfits. The crown jewel was his ’69 Charger, which I rescued from a dusty barn and have been nursing back to life ever since. So when someone says Mopar muscle is dead, I laugh. Hard. It’s 2026, and trust me, the heartbeat...