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So, what would you have to drive when it was time to stop burning in the lake of fire and you had to travel 666 miles on a completely straight road through a completely flat and open plain with nothing of visual interest and no radio so you can get to your appointment in the dungeon where demons pull off your skin?
I'd be stuck in my first car, a base model 1995 Pontiac Bonneville, in sun-magnet black with an interior of unrelenting mid-90s GM flimsy grayness that smelled like the previous owner was Swamp Thing and he loved to smoke cherry-vanilla Swisher Sweets, complete with an interior fan that would rattle every time you turned the blower knob one micron beyond off, suspension that was so soft the force of the air would actually make the car pitch and rock like a boat at highway speeds and an engine that wasn't quite powerful enough to move the car but, oddly, caused massive amounts of torque steer, which you'd have to correct with steering that was so numb it was like you were driving after injecting your hands with novocaine.
I am pretty sure that my particular car was the single worst car ever made by General Motors.
I'd be stuck in my first car, a base model 1995 Pontiac Bonneville, in sun-magnet black with an interior of unrelenting mid-90s GM flimsy grayness that smelled like the previous owner was Swamp Thing and he loved to smoke cherry-vanilla Swisher Sweets, complete with an interior fan that would rattle every time you turned the blower knob one micron beyond off, suspension that was so soft the force of the air would actually make the car pitch and rock like a boat at highway speeds and an engine that wasn't quite powerful enough to move the car but, oddly, caused massive amounts of torque steer, which you'd have to correct with steering that was so numb it was like you were driving after injecting your hands with novocaine.
I am pretty sure that my particular car was the single worst car ever made by General Motors.