When a racecar, a hegemonic corporate overlord, and a designer love each other very much, they share a “special” kind of unprotected sleep, with the racecar in the middle. One week later, the racecar has a very hard to explain outbreak.

After reading Jalopnik for 3 years, I finally feel like I have something worth contributing as my first ever comment. (TL;DR: It's a funny story, read it if you have a minute).

I bet those blind girls never saw him coming.

Maybe, all that I know is that it felt exactly like a faux-denim polyester three-piece suit that I own, which I would not want to be on fire in.

Because you haven't limited it to reciprocating piston engines, therefore I can choose something that shows every other answer is wrong.

Ten turbos on it. T E N.

Toyota Tundra still holds the truck-twerking champion title

I've seen things you people wouldn't believe. Drivers fighting for the quickest manual shift near the Melbourne Hairpin. I've watched C-Types scream in the dark near the Mulsanne exit. All those moments will be lost in time. Like engine oil, in a RX-7.

Jawohl Colonel Klink! I vil plow Fraulien Helga.

I just recommended this post... so it should get decent visibility now.

Ha, no. I can't pull off sleeveless anything without blinding everyone with albino shoulders.

I believe it does.

wise choice. unfriending him, I mean

I like turtles.

When will people stop dumping their loads on Brest.

I understand that this is a car blog and that you cover all aspects of car culture, but I kinda think that this is one of the few things that is better left unpublicized. Internet fame is all these jackasses are after, and any mention of them (even when followed by stern warnings that what they did is stupid and no…