If you are a 21 year old who drives a Porsche Cayenne, I dislike you.
Pardon my Archie Bunker-level of transparency here; I’m actually trying to work through my bias. In fact, I laid in bed last night, trying to imagine a decent person – someone with whom I’d want to be friends, say – who fit that description.
This is the best I could do:
I guess, if one came from a family with the means to provide their college kid with a $50,000 ride, why the fuck wouldn’t you? Maybe you could think of other ways to spend that kind of cash (I sure-as-shit could). But to each his own, yeah? Maybe Mr. Porsche thinks a <insert dream car here> is as frivolous as I think a Porsche SUV is. I’ll allow that that doesn’t make him a fundamentally bad person.
Because let’s face it: The story of the wealthy person who can afford luxury automobiles actually tooling around town in a Ford Aspire is a big fat false myth. For every Prius-driving celebrity are forty-four Escalade-owning professional athletes.
And really, this is a poor example. Hybrids ain’t cheap, y’all.
Wait, what was my point? Oh, right. Judging books by their douche-y covers. I shouldn’t do that.
But I got a ways to go yet.
“Hey, Jim, which one’s yours – the Subaru or the Aston-Martin?”
the sloppy copy 