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

We've made the balls. Repeat: we've made the balls. Moving on to the taint. Over.

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 thought he was dead.

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.

Crown Point, OR. USA Built in 1938.

wise choice. unfriending him, I mean

I like turtles.