Tired of looking at Lincolns bolted to walls? Done with the shiny new hotness? Because we love you, we've put together this list of what to do when the show gets boring. (Hint: It helps if you're not sober.)


Punish The Bondage Mini

Because sometimes, you just have to take your faux-British, faux-small hot hatch down into the basement and make it your bitch. (Hey! I said say my name. Mister Jalop wants his candy.)

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Be As Cool As This Guy

Toyota has a pair of Sienna seats on its floor. They recline. They're comfortable. We like this dude. He knows what's up.

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Thrills, Chills, Spills!

What is it with these video game things? Almost every booth has one. Is this what the kids are doing these days? Do they learn how to use them on the blogoweb? Don't they like real cars? What did I do with my Metamucil?

I need a nap.


Stalk Famous People, Get All Creepy In Their Faces

Hey, look! It's Patrick Dempsey! He's, uh, Patrick Dempsey! He plays that one doctor on that one show! We can't remember which one! (McCreamy? McRacey?) We kind of wish we were rich like him and could go Grand Am racing in an RX-8! He could be our best friend! Let's swap hair samples, Patrick! Yay, Patrick Dempsey!

(Wait, what were we talking about?)


Watch City Buses, Contemplate Intestinal Distress

Mom always told us to be polite, so we'll keep this brief: There's something slightly ominous here. And that kind of looks like a pool of blood.

Just sayin'.


Fix Your Busted-Ass HHR

[Cue theme song from Sanford and Son; fade out]


Step Into The Tardis, Do Very Little

Mini wants you to do something with its phone booth. We have no idea what that something is. We stood inside the booth for twenty minutes, but nothing happened. (Well, not exactly nothing. The Mini people got very angry, for one. And our loud requests to meet Colin Chapman and/or Winston Churchill were repeatedly ignored. And they threatened to ban us from the show. But nothing of substance.)


Get Eaten By The Audi Sphere

Not sure what it does. Not sure why it's there. Kind of want to rub up against it. Naturally, that's when it gets you.

RARRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRR! AUDI SPHERE HUNGRY!

Monopolize Ford's Slot Car Track

If the kid in line behind you gets testy, just tell him to go hump a wall. Slot cars are fun. Adulthood is awesome. Kids can suck eggs.


Touch-a Touch-a Touch The Ford Mustang

Seriously. Go on, touch it. How does it feel? Yeah? You wanna touch it again? You should. We need you to. Touch it.

Oh! Is that your husband? Ah, yes! Can I . . . er . . . tell you about my . . . leather? It comes in a color called Grabber Blue! Wait, no, that's not what I meant. Come back. Please?


Spank the Ford Raptor

No jokes here. Baja is fantastic. The Raptor is fantastic. If you can bear the line, you can fake-drive a Raptor on this cool movey-shakey rig. Desert racing, how we long for thee.


Point Your Obnoxiousness At Lincoln's Peeping Tom

It's a rear-view camera on a fixed base with a screen directly above it. Is it recording? Is there someone watching a feed somewhere, perpetually on the prowl for up-skirt shots? No one knows. One question rises above all: Why on earth would this be of interest to anyone?

(Just for reference, yes, I showed it my ass. Yes, I am an immature goon.)


Eye-Hump Some Air-Cooled Glory

That's not a car. That's nirvana.


Stop Your Grandmother's Heart, But Just For Giggles

The Porsche display, which is housed in its own private room, contains the exploded driveline of a Cayenne Hybrid. The diorama sports a giant electric motor with an enormous ring of magnets in it. There is also a posted warning that cautions against getting too close if you wear a pacemaker. (Or if you have a cell phone, or if you have an electronic device that stores information magnetically. Good thing no one uses those.)

Maybe this is a stupid question, but if it's a mock-up, why didn't they just install fake magnets? Did some anal-retentive Stuttgarter insist upon pinpoint accuracy? (Nein! Ze magnets! For Tchermany!) If that's the case, why did someone else listen to him?

Thank you, Porsche. This is why we can't have nice things.