Ladies, you may stop reading right now. Avert your eyes, if you must, because this post is about men. Real men. Manly men. Men who do manly things in manly ways, etc. Men who mow their own lawn, fix a leaky faucet, and change their own oil. Men who brew up a pot of battery acid every morning and call it coffee. Men who use after-shave, not “post-shave skin conditioner with aloe, seaweed extract and Vitamin E with a subtle scent of coriander.” Men who wouldn’t touch a quiche with a 10-foot fork. Men who only drink whiskeys that are named after animals or people. Men who cry only when their father or best hunting dogs die. Men who frankly, my dear, don’t give a damn. Men who know every manly cliché from the last 30 years and aren’t afraid to use them.
These men drive a particular type of car. A car that drips testosterone like a leaky gasket. A car that says, “I know what I need, and this is it.” These type of men know that they’ll never drive the length and breadth of the Kalahari, but they will sure as hell be hauling 4-by-8s home from the lumberyard (note: not the “home improvement store”). Men who don’t need fine Corinthian leather or a station wagon dressed up as an Urban Assault Vehicle. No, this is the Steve McQueen of cars: no entourage, no workout video, and no frou-frou drinks with little umbrellas.
Yeah, I know, the lack of a Y-chromosome doesn’t disqualify anyone from appreciating these fine cars, let alone owning or driving one. There are no doubt many men who just don’t have the …… good taste to rate this kind of car, and plenty of women who do. It’s far more about the mindset than which restroom door you come out of.
Now, I know what you’re thinking. “Is he talking about one car or two?” Well, to tell you the truth, in all this excitement, I’ve kinda lost track myself. Read on, but only if you feel lucky, punk.
It Rolls. 