I’m told my middle leg isn’t big enuff. :-/
Don’t forget guys – I’m a redneck trapped in the UK. Our cars normally run on diseasel (diesel) a fluid made from rats droppings, cats wee and last Sunday's vile gravy – These people, that I'm surrounded by, like their cars to be clanking away like a canal boat...are the same shape and size of a lady’s handbag, and just as emasculating.
Only that someone conveniently nailed a small sack of air at each corner and hammered a steering wheel in it.
You know I did a piece about styling? Well these cars are styled by either those I wouldn’t trust with crayons, or those that are more used to styling panel vans. Which is why a Vauxhall Astra (look it up) is mind-gurgglingly boring to the point of suicidal tendencies for me. (You guys have no idea what I’m talking about do you? )
Of course all our euro-shitboxes over here , in "everything has to be microscopic" land, are practical, puerile, humdrum, mundane, unimaginative scrap yard wannabe’s that only excite those with blue rinsed hair.
Yet in the original advertising – the beautiful Mach 1’s, Boss’s and Sports-roof’s were to take a European dynamic.
We have something exciting, something with some “style” – something that turns heads- and some people like it. I rock up to a fuel station, supermarket; when I come out it’s like I own a super car. Three to five persons all with their phones out, photographing every inch of paint. ...and I don't even have a Lamborghini :shootself:
However then there are those who think I’m alien …I’M seen as different. Driving something that to them, is 3 blocks long, 1 block wide and they think guzzles gas like a cargoship.
Now I’m told that my manhood has somehow shrunk to the size of a baby carrot and two petit pois – (look it up). :chin:
So, somehow, according to those only thinking on humdrum, mundane and practical levels, think my man sausage is inversely proportional to the length of 351 Ram Air hood and the volume of air sucked up by the air inlets.
So on their calculation, if I drove this instead…
...I’d be hung like a Grand National winner. ::thumb::
Don’t forget guys – I’m a redneck trapped in the UK. Our cars normally run on diseasel (diesel) a fluid made from rats droppings, cats wee and last Sunday's vile gravy – These people, that I'm surrounded by, like their cars to be clanking away like a canal boat...are the same shape and size of a lady’s handbag, and just as emasculating.
Only that someone conveniently nailed a small sack of air at each corner and hammered a steering wheel in it.
You know I did a piece about styling? Well these cars are styled by either those I wouldn’t trust with crayons, or those that are more used to styling panel vans. Which is why a Vauxhall Astra (look it up) is mind-gurgglingly boring to the point of suicidal tendencies for me. (You guys have no idea what I’m talking about do you? )
Of course all our euro-shitboxes over here , in "everything has to be microscopic" land, are practical, puerile, humdrum, mundane, unimaginative scrap yard wannabe’s that only excite those with blue rinsed hair.
Yet in the original advertising – the beautiful Mach 1’s, Boss’s and Sports-roof’s were to take a European dynamic.
We have something exciting, something with some “style” – something that turns heads- and some people like it. I rock up to a fuel station, supermarket; when I come out it’s like I own a super car. Three to five persons all with their phones out, photographing every inch of paint. ...and I don't even have a Lamborghini :shootself:
However then there are those who think I’m alien …I’M seen as different. Driving something that to them, is 3 blocks long, 1 block wide and they think guzzles gas like a cargoship.
Now I’m told that my manhood has somehow shrunk to the size of a baby carrot and two petit pois – (look it up). :chin:
So, somehow, according to those only thinking on humdrum, mundane and practical levels, think my man sausage is inversely proportional to the length of 351 Ram Air hood and the volume of air sucked up by the air inlets.
So on their calculation, if I drove this instead…
...I’d be hung like a Grand National winner. ::thumb::
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