Fuck your panda…

24 06 2010

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.

I owe Brian a blowjob, I mean...a 12 second car

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.

No.

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:

....Spread my wings and fly away....

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.

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How we forget…

3 06 2010

…and then remember the reasons we started something, both good and bad, selfish and simplistic. I allowed myself to succumb to the school work, pumping out word after word in hopes of satisfying the doctrine of my syllabi (syllabussesess).

I’ve written 6 essays since my last post, perhaps only one of which I am proud of. It is strange the way that no matter the pleasure level, the act of writing an essay still drains me, which I suppose is similar to sex. If you hook up with Megan Fox, who is ugly by the way, it still wears you out just about the same as when you take Rosie O’donell home for some Oofing. I’m spent, in a literary way. I make no claims that this blog entry will aspire to any level of greatness, like the aforementioned Ms. Fox’s acting career.

Let’s roll with that idea. Megan Fox. Note that listing her name 3 times so far may be a vain attempt by myself to gain more hits from google. Hi 15 year old pubescent white boys!No this isn’t another fan site for your favorite Hollywood whore. However, I do have some advice for you before you click the back button and unzip your fly; I recommend aloe for the chaffing, eating less candy to clear up your skin and most importantly to develop some semblance of good taste so that you 1. Stop modifying your Civic with parts from Ebay and 2. Can appreciate a woman who was hot before being airbrushed for seven hours in a sealed lab. Oh, and drop that fucking Monster energy drink habit. Kidney stones are not fun, neither are the long term affects from running your body on a diet of burgers, taurine, and skinny jeans.

Skinny Jeans. I saw some epic ones today, the kind of skinny jeans that are so taught that you wonder how the guy(?) divides his testicles evenly, allowing them to droop between the pant legs without showing. While scoping out the ball-scape on this dude I was distracted by his posse of female friends. There was a large girl with green hair who was sucking ferociously on a child’s pacifier. Let that sink in. Seeing shit like that makes me want to raise the homeland security threat color to HOLY FUCKING SHIT magenta.

Magenta. Not red, not purple, not Barney, not a Corvette. I am suspicious of you Magenta.





The Ugly Box: Part 1

7 05 2010

Let’s talk about ugly things.

I'm so happy I'll kill you

The 1980’s, as pictured above, was a dark time for fashion, and women, ok, well for everyone. I popped out in 84′, so don’t ask me what it was like. I hid in my room until about 1992, but I’ve heard about it. The Emo kids at my local mall think the 1980’s are pretty much the shit, even though I was watching Jurassic Park and listening to the Chilli Peppers around the time their parents’ fertility treatments kicked in. Posers. Go get your own decade.

If this is a dude, he gets laid a lot. Seriously.

Ugly is the new sexy, like 50 was….the new 40? I forget that cliché trash dumpster of a marketing scheme but you know what I mean. Re-branding, sometimes mislabeled rediscovery, it’s like calling Goodwill a Vintage Clothing Outlet. That stuff was given away for a reason, and reusing it doesn’t make you the original owner. Classic example: Cindy Lauper’s Time after time.

In 2006 a band called Quietdrive covered the song and gained a nice bump in popularity from a fan base too retarded to know that it wasn’t their song.

Watch the crowd shots. I think the cumulative age of all those attending is like 38.

So perhaps this is where the Kia Soul comes in. That’s right, I’m creating a link between an abhorrent social movement and a Korean car company. This blogs got balls.

We are so inwardly bored with our future, since we have so many conveniences in our lives, that we hunger, even secretly, for some nuance of classic ugly. Why? I think it has a lot to do with our obsession with the “end of days,” 2012, etc. The fear mongering has generated some kind of fashion movement, a world where humans have done away with curves and adopted a plastic box as their utilitarian source of solace.

But we dont's wants to drives the Kia

Rutger Hauer is a god damn bad ass. He scares me even when he wears outfits like this:

I killed Peter Pan and took his clothes

So yeah…..Kia. I hate Kia. They have done so well in the past few years to build a reputation for affordable Toyota/Honda clones, albeit lacking in the longevity and build quality departments. You get a car your friends will mistake for Japanese for about half the price of one that actually is. Just remember to change your timing belt every 60,000 miles. That’s nearly half the interval of a standard Honda by the way (bullshit).

Let’s look at the marketing campaign for the Kia Soul:

I was a little worried that the hamsters in the Kia were out doing drive bys, the way they rolled up on their fellow rodents. If you pay attention you get to see the frosting at the end. 31 MPG Highway, 50+ Accessories. Pimp your box, make it look less like other people’s boxes. Ok, now that was dirty. Still, it is an incessant theme now, ever since that fucking Scion Xbox came out we’ve seen the transition between funny little car to standard design integration.

You want to know what is sexy?

Yummy

1969 Camaro. Now I’m not retarded and I don’t think that the Camaro is an answer to your commuting needs. I don’t want to ruin the planet any quicker, but just bare with me ( Panda Pun!). The design of the Camaro is fluid, and has remained one of the most readily identifiable cars ever produced, even though it is now over 50 years old. In my mind, we haven’t done better.  It was cheap, fast, sexy, and got you laid.

But what about the planet?

You know what we need to do, less of this shit:

You thought ricers were bad

I believe, quite strongly, that ugly cars, excuse me, MODERN cars masquerade as “green” alternatives to allow themselves the excuse to be hideous. Somehow buyers are identifying boxed shaped cars with eco friendly, the same way a Republican identifies hippie with tofu. Soy is bad for you by the way. It depresses me to think that in 50 years from now our hallmark of automotive design will be a 15,000 dollar white box whose ad campaign was led by some ghetto ass hamsters.

So let’s recap. The 80’s are scary, Emo kids live there! Time after Time was an awesome song, the first go round, Rutger Hauer doesn’t drive a Kia, and the Camaro is sexy incarnate.

Next up:

Part 2: Waterworld: how Costner got gills and a vagina