Sure. It’s become a metaphor for “faster” in non-automotive applications. Turbo Tax comes to mind. But this is clearly NOT a non-automotive application, and to call a car that doesn’t possess a turbo a “Turbo” is fucking stupid. Might as well slap the word on any vaguely hot version of a car in that case, turbocharged…

Calling an EV a “Turbo” is absurd. I really dislike this blurring of automotive terms practiced by BMW, Mercedes, and now Porsche. It’s very un-German of them. The German language probably has a very specific word for precisely this type of thing.

Oh sure, you celebrate this guy.

This article is one-sided trash.

*in an inexplicably continued rigor mortis, both thumbs are up*.

*48 hours later, a bloated corpse washes ashore, obvious signs of suicide. The man is only identifiable by his striped polo featured on an amateur chopped episode*

OK, I’m a Nissan/Infiniti fanboy, and I actually love the Q60 and would consider buying one.

Until a bad breakup, I had the cheapest running/driving old Audi. Then my ex shot it full of holes.

The egregious and terrible nature of the core take here almost distracts from the absolutely heinous addendum about the best kind of pizza.

The mk1 Scirocco is well suited to an aftermarket heckblende in North America, since our license plates don’t properly fit the space left for a german plate

You put that better than I ever could have.

The AFC East being a pushover is a fallacy.

And that win % against the AFC East includes the last 34 games against the Bills, of which NE has lost 3.

Maybe they shouldn’t have called it ‘Autopilot’? Call it Driver-Assist. Don’t call it by a term that is widely used to mean complete automation.

You’re very invested in these two strangers’ internet argument about traffic light sensors. Are you high?

My response certainly could have used more tact, and for that I apologize. However, if you cannot handle being contradicted, then you shouldn’t try to sound like an industry expert when there are actual traffic engineers out here.

User name checks out, but it’s missing the “_Douche” from the end.

Now, a gallon of gasoline cost a nickel, and in those days, nickels had pictures of bumblebees on ‘em. Gimme five bees for a quarter, you’d say.

I remember when these tubes were laid out at gas stations; a little bell would ring, alerting the attendant who filled your tank, checked the air in your tires, checked your oil and washed your windshield.

I’ve found myself saying it a lot recently. We’ve gotten ourselves into a cycle of: