I drive a Subaru Forester. I mention that not because I hope for a sponsorship quid pro quo (though a new Tribeca would fit quite nicely in my driveway) but more so that you have some idea of my automotive erotica level.
The car (and I call anything I drive a 'car' until it won't start and then I've another name for it) is black, if that helps fructify your fantasies and if tell you it has a leather interior do you need a cigarette break or a cold shower? One or the other, not both.
Coming out of my gym (it's a fitness center and doesn't have someplace to play basketball which for me is the critical separator between the two), on my way back to my car past a lot of dripping wet people and discarded cigarette butts, I passed a grey and white Smart car. Actually, as it said on the passenger door, I was walking past a Passion.
I don't get Smart cars, any of them (it's you and not me, I think) and Passion would not have been my first choice for a name. It looks like a shipping container on a grocery cart suspension but I'm sure looks are deceiving. And if you own one, I'm sure you are hoping they are.
All I ever think of when I see them is that they are an argument on why intelligent, energy-efficient and environmentally friendly cars will never catch on. As I had just been in the fitness center and it was still oh-my-Gawd-it's-early o'clock with few folks inside I knew who the driver was, Teva Churn's are a give-away, and I rest my case.
Smart Car people: As it is right now your car is homely, not cute and quite frankly so ugly it would frighten me every morning to open the garage door and see it inside, waiting for me and I do NOT need any more incentives to hate going to work. That's part of my employer's job.
In much the same way as many more people would eat broccoli if it tasted like chocolate, bribe the Lamborghini folks to design your next body. Or if they're busy, get Lindt on the phone. Actually in the interests of sales, you'd be better served by partnering with M & M otherwise all that passion is a cocoa puddle come summer.
-bill kenny
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