Dear Honda Civic drivers,
I hate most of you. Vehemently. Violently. I consider myself an enormous auto enthusiast, I live, breathe, and lust over most four wheeled, even some two wheeled creations. I don’t discriminate between the flags of the manufacturers; I can appreciate the ferocity and alluring absurdity of a Ferrari as much as a well tuned Miata. However, I can not further abide the constant visual rape that is a spray painted, D series powered Civic with mix matched door panels, an obvious salvage title history and your color matched side cocked hat.
It has to stop. Altezzas are hideous. They break up the lines of a car the same way being side swiped by a bull dozer would. On top of this, the Altezza kit for the older Civics, whatever the fuck number designation those are, for my sake we’ll call them the Bento Box, are the absolute best example of a severe deficiency in good taste.
Why? Seriously, I want to know how superficially modifying your economy car provides you with any possible reason to lean back as far as you can in your chair, wrap one hand on the top of the steering and shoot sideways glances at me as I go past you? Do you have any idea what an Ebay intake pipe, a bolt on “stainless” exhaust from Hong Kong and a shopping cart handle mislabeled as a strut tower brace does for your D series performance? Pretty much nothing. You would get more power out of a tune up.
Wings. No, not Wings. Which was strangely intriguing to me as a 6 year old who couldn’t find the TV remote. Holy shit Tony Shaloub was in it! I had no idea. Anyways, Wings, as in this:
A lot of car guys, friends of mine included like to state how the purpose of any wing is provide downforce on the drive wheels, which would not be the rear of the car on a Civic. I tend to reach for the pure visual issue that a wing provides. It is akin to walking around with a jet pack on at the mall. You better fucking be Iron Man or otherwise I must assume you have deep seeded issues that require medication and a stretch out couch. Wings are for cars whose power bands allow them to cruise at 150 miles an hour, something not required when parking sideways at Jack in the Box with your “home boys.”
I was 17 once, a while ago, and the first car I got had a V8. Yep, I was that kid, the one that pissed on ricers every chance I got. My stupid little 305 V8, with 170 HP stomped on every Civic in my zip code. In retrospect I drove one of the most white trash, craptastic 80’s relics around, which also serves to point out the quality of Honda’s I raced. I was young. I’ve grown up.
Perhaps this is just a cynical plea to all the ricers to be, the 15 year old misunderstood white children of suburbia please, please, put the decals down. The car is a proud piece of human history, regardless of its current role in ruining the planet, one that should be cared for not modified to perpetrate itself as something it is not. 1995 Honda Civic Hatchback, great car, well made, sips the gas like an old British woman sips tea. A race car this is not, and until you turbo it, properly, with a qualified engine management system, upgraded CV shafts and a b18 as your starting point, shut the fuck up. Don’t do precursor mods so you can “live the dream” until you “get your money right.” Leave the hood the same color as the body, and if you bought a salvaged Honda with mismatched body panels FIX THAT SHIT FIRST. Just trust me, one day, you’ll notice a little gray in the hair, some of us earlier than others *cough* and you won’t want to lean back that far in the driver’s seat for fear of hurting your back. Ok, I dramatize, but still, there are cars for every purpose, and until you can adequately afford to A: buy a fast car or B: make a slow car fast, and do it properly LEAVE your car ALONE. I’m not being elitist about this, if you are low on funds, this is the single best excuse to NOT modify your car, not vice versa. No one say beauty is in the eye of the beholder either, because some ricetastic shit on the road right now is so ugly it will make you blind.
Ladies, ladies, do me a favor; Keep your future white rap star boy toy away from your car. You can let him ride bitch where he belongs, but don’t let him throw on any cold air intakes or HID headlights from Ebay (China) on your ride. Don’t feed his disease, rather, drive him to the mall with a bunch of job apps and a resume. Let him fuck up his own car, and then when he makes it big, he can get you back for all that gas you wasted on him.
I have to touch on subwoofers because this goes hand in hand with car modification like Steven Seagal and suck. Turn that shit down, especially at say 1 in the morning while driving home through your parents neighborhood after a long night spent parked in the 7 eleven lot, bumping your new Justin Bieber tune. If you somehow feel entitled to being loud and brash because your “shit is custom” you deserve to get the cops called on your ass. Car culture was never about being an asshole. Think of it this way, if you still eat at Mcdonalds, when was the last time you got a happy meal? One day you went in there and got a grown up burger, stared intently at the ball pit and noticed all the throw up stains on the wall. You may still lack the classic taste of a more refined man, but you know kid meals from real burgers and your taste in cars should follow the same path.