I mean, there are two ways of looking at the world, right?
Seriously, somebody please tell me the allure of the Hummer (not the “hummer,” whose allure is well known to me, thanks). I’m not trying to be a sensitive, kumbayah-crooning, macramé-sandaled zork, either – I just don’t get it. Here’s what I’ve come up with:
You’re really high.
But then again, so is your center of gravity, so you can’t take turns going more than 5mph. Thus, you are one bobbled french fry away from flipping the car over and killing a family of six from East Orange, NJ.
You like all the electronics stuffed in it.
But all the same electronics (DVD player, navigation system, curtain airbags, nine speakers) can be had on the car on the left, and you’ll be getting 52mpg while doing so.
You like the roomy interior.
Yes, but are you hauling lumber on your way to Park Slope? Is there a bushel of farm hogs you need to deliver to the corner of 7th Avenue and Berkeley Place? Do you need to play snooker in the back of that thing?
You like to guzzle gas because the rest of the world can fuck off.
Yep, your nine miles per gallon is teaching us all a lesson in life’s fleeting impermanence. Wait, your kids won’t be able to go outside when they grow up, because the ozone is gone? Oh well, fuck them too. Life is hard, and they’ve got to deal with disappointment.
You’re being IRONIC.
Now actually, I can get behind that.
You have sub-standard genitalia, or some other body dysmorphic disorder that requires compensation.
Oh, now THAT cliché couldn’t be true, could it? I mean, really. I’m sure you have a huge cock, the size of a baby’s arm.
You are going to buy that car because you want to, because you’re an American and free to behave any way you want without some pinko blogger taking a picture of his car and your car and making some big POINT about it.
Touché. Ya GOT me!
I foolishly take on Hummer owners so you don’t have to,