The perfect city sports car. Cheap, easy to find parts/repair and those fugly rubber buggy bumpers will help protect it from folks who parallel park by ear. A fun little runabout you drive to enjoy, and if the look really bothers you it can be backdated. Nice Price.

Before you go, let me offer a suggestion:

If you really want a Lotus, you don’t need to settle:

A note for Tom McKay, Gizmodo, the Herb-feller et. al.

But alas, I live in south Florida. And I’m not so worried about it being able to be repaired, but about where I’ll find the parts to repair it.

You have an 85-mile driveway?

A couple of elastic straps will move/break and the side airbag will work?

Real. Lambskin. Seat covers. They’ll not only preserve the leather seats beneath them, they’ll literally protect your ass from getting scorched by your seats.

I could live with the headlights. They’ve got a dynamic balance goin’ on with the frame line at the top of the nostrils. Not smooth, but they fit.

I don’t know about the Galaxy phone, but that lead graphic is excellent.

Exactly. I thought the “disguised” Morgan prototype in dazzle camouflage was the funniest click bait I’d ever seen. But bringing the whole Dakar-prepped sportscar meme to its ultimate absurdity is the new standard by which marketing trolls will forever be judged.

At 5 miles per hour, a lime-green Mercedes bouncing through workday traffic does a lot less damage than a bouncing .40 slug. In an area crowded with motorists and innocent bystanders, I respect the arrest team’s restraint.

That was the pretext.

Wow. Way to gain pyrrhic victory in the skirmish and lose the war.

How about “happy-smiley suppository”?

I’m sure someone bought that carb swap because old Japanese carburetors must’ve been carved from pure Unobtainium. The worst example I remember is the first-gen Honda CRXs had a teeny-tiny Mikuni four-barrel (on a 1.5 liter engine) that cost like $1200 for a replacement in the late ’90s.

I understand. But I wouldn’t take that guilt on myself, and if you’ll allow me I’d suggest you’re being hard on yourself in this situation.

Did they not leave you a message? That you could call back to immediately? If so, that’s pretty poor form on their part.

I’ve got a simpler plan: if you don’t know the number, don’t answer the damn phone.

I beg to differ. I think of it as rather elegant.