Well, to be fair with you, I remember that when we went with my dad to pick our first (brand-new) Vivace, we had to wait like an hour at the dealer because they forgot to install the front seatbelts. The friggin’ seatbelts!

Earth. As long as you keep the basic maintenance relatively taken care of, the thing will just start.

The 127-147-Spazio-Vivace platform was anything close to rigid, even new and with its original configuration. Taming the bodyflex was part of the skills required to enjoy them. And boy, you could enjoy hooning the heck out of them.

Ok, a bit slow, maybe. But that’s ok.

Mercury Grand Marquis. Inefficient, not enough inside room considering its footprint, only 4-speed auto. It’s excessively easy to find an overall-better car.

It looks like a cheap kit-car. There, I said it.

On the other hand, you could just program the scooters to utter Sleep Talkin’ Man’s expletives. See:http://sleeptalkinman.blogspot.com/

Easy: rear visibility is, like manual transmission, not included.

Fuck you very much, indeed. Now my mind is a clusterfuck of weirdom.

We’ve all had our three-months-before-the-kick. Mine was a beautiful Catholic integrist. The Opus Dei kind.

I DD a ‘04 Ford Ka 1.6. The little bastard is a riot to drive, especially on crooked hilly roads and a congested city. Reliable as heck, but maintenance means a team-building afternoon with my brother. So there’s that.

Donald was all hot and bothered, though...

Bitch, please... Get some Hungarian...

This isn’t NASCAR. This doesn’t need to be NASCAR.

Exactly. Fits all requirements and will never rust. Except the frame. Then, buy a new frame and replace it on any cloudy afternoon over a six-pack.

An amazing piece, Torcho, a brilliant job. It should be read aloud by every Tesla buyer before handing them the keys.

I was rather thinking on another English-speaking nation with a seemingly brainless President, but now I am all interested in those skits. Heading to YouTube.

You can still be President.

Shit. I realize that I had a boring childhood.

For when you want to go full Texan. Or full Russian. Oh, coincidence...