Rick Allen is, in so many ways, a hero. He was drumming for Def Leppard when, on the way to a party, his Corvette was run off the road by a bloody Jaguar. He lost his arm in the accident and, depressed, considered his career was over. Initially, his friends and band members worked to create a special drum kit for the newly one-armed Allen. Using his feet, his right arm and the custom kit he was able to rejoin Def Leppard and start playing with them full-time. This isn't to say Def Leppard is the greatest band ever. In fact, the lyrics aren't necessarily the best, but the music will live on — much like the Internal Combustion Engine. At least so long as people are willing to be as passionate about it, in a Def Leppard lyrics sort of way, as Mobius.
I say, and hope, never.
Nothing makes my heart clench and tighten with awe and lust like the sound of horsepower being unleashed from the rapidly rotating pistons in a highly-strung ICE going to the rev limiter, then going up a gear and doing it all over again.
Nothing makes my body loosen and my smile widen like the deep, charming burble that comes out of a big, lazy, powerful, and American V8 cruising along nochalantly that could, and would, suddenly switch to angry mode and unleash its infinite twist and drink down the gas like a black hole, smoke the tires like a wildfire, let loose its roar like the MGM lion, and (Malalise excepted) bend space and time like a good book on a long flight.
Nothing makes my skin tingle and my spine shiver like an ICE. A fire burns in me that longs for the ICE. Its sound, its power, its charm.
Live long and prosper.
Pour some sugar on it... oh wait, don't. Bad idea.