For those sitting on the edge of your seat waiting for the outcome of this saga: there is none at this point.
This morning my brother met me at my house at 8:45 AM sharp. I grabbed the Garmin GPS, EZ-Pass, shades and fired up the Buick for my trek to Connecticut.
I figured I had enough fuel to get there since I had only driven 60 miles since my last fill (fuel gauge no worky), but I figured I'd top it off. I stopped at the gas station at the bottom o' the hill and went in to check out their selection of breakfast goods. After milling around for a few minutes I went back to the car and was surprised to find that the pump was still running. The car took 15.5 gallons of fuel, of which at least 2 gallons of it was pouring out onto the ground.
I paid the guy and waited until it was done dripping. Thankfully the HazMat team didn't get involved and rather than get on Rt. 80 East toward Connecticut, I went back up the hill to my house. If I had a match I'd have thrown it under the car.
When I got home I pumped the fuel out 5 gallons at a time and distributed it among all of the internal combustion engines in my possesion. I dropped the tank from the Buick and found several pebbles jammed between the o-ring and the tank where my new (to me) double pumper hanger was installed.
After the repair, I dumped the most recent 5 gallons that I pumped out of the Buick back into it. I think it's sealed, but until I fill it again I won't know. I used some of that fuel to bring the Buick and my RC plane to a local lake for some relaxing flying. I promptly crashed the plane into said lake. I got wet retrieving it and spent the rest of this glorious Sunday afternoon polluting my body with Budweiser.
I did lay the longest, fattest, blackest patch of rubber I've ever seen (pre-Budweiser, of course) on the pavement by my house. It was smokey, it was smelly and it was the best reminder of why I put up with all this crap. Hours later I'd still get a whiff of burned rubber and I'd just chuckle to myself.
Jim