Jalopnik Reviews: 2006 Audi RS4 - He Said Supercar, He Said 'Meh' Edition - Part 1

After the enthusiastic embrace of the initial, "He Drove/He Drove" Ford Edge review, Mr. Michael Spinelli did what any good editor would do — call the boys and yell, "Again! Again! Do it again!" Reality being what it is (poor, impoverished auto-journos living thousands of miles apart) Mike "Likes to Pray" Austin was not available to fracture speed limits with the Loverman. But Davey G. sure was. The boys set off from Pedro in the beyond-hoontastic Audi RS4 in search of celebrity Malibu crash sites, the most dangerous road in California and drunken cheerleaders/supermodels. As of right now, we only know that the Loverman has made it back alive. Click through for the debauchery. And we do mean debauchery. The photographic, gallery-type evidence is here.

Loverman: This is one of those rare instances where I am at a loss for words. Almost. Mr. Johnson, does a more astonishing vehicle exist? The RS4 is as fast as a supercar, it handles better than most supercars, it sucks fuel like a supercar and you look like nothing more than a run-of-the-mill associate producer while driving it. As we discussed, this sucker is faster, lighter and much more sure-footed than the old E39 M5, a car which previously held the title of Q-car king. And with the new M5 actualizing as a spastic, rotten gear-boxed race-track-only meathead in a shark-suit, I think the crown now belongs to Audi.

Johnson: Loverman, after thinking about it over a drunken cheerleader, and after our awesome display of twin RS4-ness in front of Emil's house, I am beginning to wonder about the RS4. No doubt, as Bumbeck once said, the motor sounds as if it's well-stocked with Isky Supperleggera cams, and the noise it makes offers up "Oh shits!" at a random stab of the loud pedal. I mean, said "Oh shits!" are entirely involuntary. They come from the gut. You know this better than I do, as you've been living with the car for a week.

Loverman: Do I ever! Aside from you feeling "drunk" after I finally got us down out of the hills of Malibu and almost tripping and falling over when you exited the car, I have made three other people ill after just a few miles. Plus, I tossed my friend's girlfriend all around the backseat ripping through Hollywood to the Eastside until she finally pleaded, "Stop making it so bouncy." I love being me.

Johnson: That said, I would not own this car, even if I had the 70-or-whatever-K to do so. The gas mileage is atrocious, despite its non-supercar status and lack of towing capacity. It's too heavy, and the only thing that's pure about it is the motor, which admittedly is Nutella-coated manna from the skies. Seriously, people. It's that fucking good of a fucking mill.

But the seats suck. Moreso, I think the lack of effortless available hoonage super-potential leaves the car suspect and tainted. Sure as hell, the thing was amazing to toss over Decker Canyon. What that car can do is frankly astounding. The brakes are a gift from Thor. But when we attempted to whip donuts in the parking lot — where I was mightily impressed at the car's grip — I was left sorely disappointed. Why? Because it pushed, which to me, is an unpardonable sin in such a situation.

Loverman: Um, dude... as I was the jerk doing said donut I will tell you that for an all-wheel drive car with stupid-low 35-profile tires that are as wide as your torso, the RS4 was making Krispy Kremes out there.

Johnson: After you and I endured the Schnitzer Nose Job Incident, we got into your WRX — and that little hatchback was much more fun than the bloated, tacky BMW. When I finished backseating in that A8 on the Bullrun, we got into an Evo and bombed from Beverly Hills to Venice. The Evo danced, drifting across lanes. And while the A8 was no slug, and I was blown away by its competence in situations where it should've fallen of the road — it's an apples-and-oranges comparison for sure — the Mitsu felt far more alive. And both Japanese rally-studs can be had for a third of the price of the Audi. True, the RS4 is on another level performance-wise, and with the exception of the seats, I really liked the interior (although the chairs are such a gigantic minus in everyday driving, I'd rip 'em out and throw in a set of Kirkeys or Recaros with five-point harnesses or sell the car). I do, however, think the gun compartments are a rather awesome touch.

Loverman: The gun-holders just add to the overall Q-carness of this evil blue puppy. So you all know, if you ever find yourself in an RS4 during a drug-deal gone south, reach between your knees for the little latch — odds are, that's where the owner keeps his Glock. I would. I mean, why the hell was the dude in Transporter 2 driving the S8? The RS4 is far superior. I know what you mean about the eagerness of both the Evo and my "snatch-back" WRX (wagon), but I've taken a lot of cars over Decker Canyon in my time (featuring more deaths per mile than any road in California), and no car has even been close to the effortlessness gymnasticness and sheer angry grunt of the manic RS4. It is my opinion that at root, all German cars secretly want to be either trains or tanks. The RS4 is a bullet train that wants to be a rocket sled.

Precision steering, anonymous looks, endless torque, an engine tuned by Slayer and as you mentioned, mythological Scandinavian brakes add up to the car of my dreams. Audi has built my drug! Sure, the seats are no good, the mirrors are useless, the ride is drunken-Irish-husband-abusive, I've had the car for six hundred miles and have filled it up four times (remember — they give us the car with a full tank) but WHO CARES?

Your buddy Emil who owns both the RS4 and the Lambo Gallardo said he likes ze Audi as a vehicle better. And the RS4 is $150,000 cheaper than the Gallardo. What more proof is needed? Seriously Johnson, the Audi is an even better performance "bargain" than the much hullabalooed Z06. I have to say it — the RS4 is the best car on the road right now, period.

Johnson: Look, that thing goes way harder than anything with that amount of mass has a right to this side of the Space Shuttle. I cannot front on any of your refutations of my disappointment with the car. The torque is phenomenal, and available anywhere you want it, at any time you may ask, and the crazy thing is, there's not all that much of it compared to say, your joe-average Brabus. The steering is good and responds to your movements with Fine German Precision. However, it lacks feel. It doesn't feel like a car — despite pretending to be one — which I think is my problem with it. It feels like a train. Last night I rode home in a Focus wagon (not a snatchback) driven by Wonder Woman. That, well...that felt like a damn car. I could call the Audi an invisible jet right now, stop typing and score killer reference points. But I won't, because the A4-on-meth may be a Q-ship, but "invisible jet" is simply the wrong way to describe it. The RS4 is a simply rocket sled with the entire engine hanging over the front axle, held onto the rails by ber-expensive tires and a hyper-intelligent computer.

Loverman: Oh man... why are we even talking about stupid cars? Let's get back to Wonder Woman. When you were playing "Guess Which Knuckle?" with the drunk young thing in the cheerleader outfit, I learned that Mz. Wonder is a ballet instructor and she touched her ankle to her forehead for me and Autoblog Frank. Not only that, but at one point she was showing the other girls how to dance "like a black girl." Which meant nothing but violent waves of well-shaken ass. Man, I could really get used to parties where you to turn to the beautiful chick next to you, ask, "So what's your story?" and hear back "I model for Victoria's Secret."

Johnson: Agreed. Party more at Emil's for sure. And drive his Gallardo, since he'd apparently rather take the Audi to track days than his Lambo.

Loverman: That Emil's a pretty sharp cookie. OK, I got a date — say hi to Vegas for me. Oh, and go eat at the Pink Taco in the Hard Rock. Thank me later.

Johnson: Emil and Keri, please have more parties. And don't stop inviting us. We're sorry for everything.

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