You Have No Style, You Have No Soul: Please Eat a Past-Due Eclair and Enjoy Botulism

It's one of those evenings. Really. Everything's played. Most of the large majority of a plethora of things by and large suck. Which means we're reduced to ranting. Sure, we could toe the Gawker line and bitch that Si can rim us and Jobs' cotomer sevis is roughly at-or-below third-world levels. And then we realize the reality of a Si Newhouse analingus session and decide that we'll stick to bitching about how Apple's hardware has reached a pinnacle of suckdom, and that we have more Mac knowledge in the rather icky fluid from a singular popped zit than the fools on the tech line have in all of their neurons compiled. So here then, friends, is a call. Jump through, because we like front-page economy and this particular bit of idiocy has rambled on long enough (Wert's Tolstoy-esque posts notwithstanding.)

And here, friends, is the surprisingly simple answer to things. Stop building stupid cars! If I can't put my fucking seat belt on when I need to in a FJ Cruiser, what's the point of any sort of ability to clamber up steep inclines? If I buy a car with six-billion horsepower and want to fry my rear tires, what's stopping me? Murder the government. Blow up the ocean. Take a Makita to the tires of every "liberal" owner of a 4WD vehicle built after 1985 and take a hand grenade to the red-state owners of the selfsame trucks. Unless, of course, they're Subaru BRATS. Wait...what was the cutoff year for the BRAT anyway? Fuckit. Pull the pin and give us our RWD back in any sort of exciting form. It's a sad day when drifters are reduced to yanking the front diffs from Imprezas.

A jihad against automotive dumbness must start now. And since nobody seems to be starting it, well, it's starting right here. War, children. The shit's on. Now get cracking on not sucking. Give us a reason to get back to giving you the business and not simply spend our days picking off groupers in Coke cans. Seriously. We're getting bored over here.
Hearts and deep tongue-kisses,
Los Jalopniks.