*Adult Language and Situations
Look people, I got a car for sale, and she's fucking worth it.
She's old but sexual. She was first conceived in Japan, where they do that sort of thing out of love, not assembly lines.
Sweet baby Jesus, this car is something. She's sleeker than a wet walrus, yet harder than a chacoan naked-tailed armadillo at the same time. We're talking mean but sensual, with curves that will bring color back into your grandma's cheeks.
This car is hot. She's got a fiery red interior that will light a flame in your britches that won't go out without some ice cubes, which you can easily store inside this car because she's so cool.
Holy tornado.
Have you ever seen a monsoon inside a volcano? That's what looking inside this car is like.
A sharp intake of breath. A twitch in your loins. A rumble in your jungle. A brawl in the hall. Oh no I just got into a brawl. I need to get out of here before the cops come. Good thing I drive pure fucking sex and won't have to worry about getting pulled over because I drive a shadow. She sings when others cry and instills fear in the hearts of Prius drivers.
Prius? Jesus H. Christ. This car was made in the '80s. I'm talkin' Def Leppard and Bad-Boy Detroit Pistons. This car was made for you, and I'm not saying you have to be male, but I am saying your heart has to weigh at least six pounds, or you won't have enough guts for this baby's needs.
Raining? Take off her T-tops and drive so fast that Mother Nature can't touch you with her demon droplets from the sky. Sun? Take people on dates and let their narcissistic asses look at their reflections in the pristine white chocolate of her exterior. Then hit the eject button and watch them spring out the top of the car like that horrifying childhood toy, Pop Goes the Weasel or something. When they come crying to you, saying they still need a ride home, tickle the throttle and leave them in a cloud of ephemeral dust.
You're not gonna need a lover if you buy this car because the mere act of driving her is about to put you in a state of ecstasy that is unparalleled on this side of the solar system.
Holy macaroni.
This car has it all, as if that hasn't been made explicitly clear by now. But just in case you're still wondering if she's worth it, I'm going to move to bullets, because this car dodges 'em.
Look people, I got a car for sale, and she's fucking worth it.
She's old but sexual. She was first conceived in Japan, where they do that sort of thing out of love, not assembly lines.
Sweet baby Jesus, this car is something. She's sleeker than a wet walrus, yet harder than a chacoan naked-tailed armadillo at the same time. We're talking mean but sensual, with curves that will bring color back into your grandma's cheeks.
This car is hot. She's got a fiery red interior that will light a flame in your britches that won't go out without some ice cubes, which you can easily store inside this car because she's so cool.
Holy tornado.
Have you ever seen a monsoon inside a volcano? That's what looking inside this car is like.
A sharp intake of breath. A twitch in your loins. A rumble in your jungle. A brawl in the hall. Oh no I just got into a brawl. I need to get out of here before the cops come. Good thing I drive pure fucking sex and won't have to worry about getting pulled over because I drive a shadow. She sings when others cry and instills fear in the hearts of Prius drivers.
Prius? Jesus H. Christ. This car was made in the '80s. I'm talkin' Def Leppard and Bad-Boy Detroit Pistons. This car was made for you, and I'm not saying you have to be male, but I am saying your heart has to weigh at least six pounds, or you won't have enough guts for this baby's needs.
Raining? Take off her T-tops and drive so fast that Mother Nature can't touch you with her demon droplets from the sky. Sun? Take people on dates and let their narcissistic asses look at their reflections in the pristine white chocolate of her exterior. Then hit the eject button and watch them spring out the top of the car like that horrifying childhood toy, Pop Goes the Weasel or something. When they come crying to you, saying they still need a ride home, tickle the throttle and leave them in a cloud of ephemeral dust.
You're not gonna need a lover if you buy this car because the mere act of driving her is about to put you in a state of ecstasy that is unparalleled on this side of the solar system.
Holy macaroni.
This car has it all, as if that hasn't been made explicitly clear by now. But just in case you're still wondering if she's worth it, I'm going to move to bullets, because this car dodges 'em.
- This car will add three inches to your vert.
- Park this car in any driveway in the U.S. or Canada, and the owner will sell the house to you, for free.
- Waxing this car is like watching your first child being born.
- Her radio doesn't work because her engine sings falsetto and baritone–at the same time.
- Sweet nectar drips into a cup when you put one in her holder.
- You can drink sweet nectar.
- Her horn sounds like Adam Levine and Adele's offspring.
- She smells like childhood gaiety and tastes like victory.
- She comes in one color: Badass.
- If someone other than you opens her hood and looks at her undercarriage, that person goes blind.
- She's almost thirty with the wisdom of a sixty-something and the impossible hormones of a teenager.
- Strangers will want to touch her. They'll be cursed for nine years if they do.
- She also responds to White Widow.
- One time a tree branch fell in her lap. When I got back to her, the nearest tree had been felled. With a fucking ax.
- Hands-free parallel parking.