The idea of writing about this phenomenon is not to investigate how it came about or what it means, but rather to exact just how lame it is. Jogging today I saw one of the new model Tundras, excellent cars that have far outmatched the contemporary American truck style of hard lines and sporty proportions….. I mean look at how I just described this motorized carriage, it’s embarrassing. Anyway, as this truck passed me I was first caught by the whole of the thing and quickly glanced slightly downward in the same way I did when I saw the cutie Latina girlie with the mid section and high waisted jeans. Codoos to her for recognizing her jeans were sagging and pulling them way up, that’s wifey considerable. Back to the truck, upon lowering my gaze I was struck by the immaculate sharp font spelling out “TUNDRA” in semi mono spaced letters. I also always snatch a quick peek at the taillights on those bad boys, at first a frowned upon feature but now a truly lovely, glorious, adored one.
Ok, focus, Josh. Tundras are nice. So are S Classes & Model S’s… I especially like a Taycan Cross Turismo specced out to have Tesla trim. But! But, they are merely things. They’re not all that exciting, well fine they are, but they are not vitality giving as such. To have one, to know you’re safe in one, to be able to maneuver with speed and precision and flare, these are wonderful things. And yet, they do not define you even if you want them to.
I’m for sure out of the Mustang’s league and spit upon the screaming tricked out freaking one-car-that-they-always-take-the-logo-off-the-back-with-the-shite-proportions-that’s-almost-nice-but-def-is-not as well as his Subey buddies with the screeching, egregious, somehow worth going into debt for automobile.
The revving the engine up on one of these shite boxes, as well as the whole uber big truck thing has always been odd to me. Where I’m at now with it is that, while of course being some kind of compensation, the hope for these blokes is that having a loud car or a big truck, or taking their Camaro to get cleaned three times a week, makes them… formidable.
And this brings me back around to my car faggotry. Even if I find it easy to distance myself from the dweeb working a nine to five just to be able to make his payments on his depreciating in value car with the spoiler (!) and the skirts (pf! Gaay!), I still am trapped if I continue to put any serious onus on the value and illusory manliness of a car. Beep beep.
J.W. 