Rather NSFW language follows. Hope you like RCR because I have the same sense of humor.
Are you fuccbois (and fuccgirls, I’m not sexist) mentally prepared for the awe-inspiring clusterfuck of machine and forced induction that I’m about to spring onto your sad little life? Trick question, because nobody is prepared for this car. If you’re not secure in your sexuality you can FUCK OFF because this car is gayer than Tiny Tim in a ball pit. It makes Richard Simmons teaching yoga at 3am look manlier than Dwayne Johnson chugging straight whiskey and banging Mila Kunis.
So what the hell is this car that I have been so kind to bestow upon your eye-holes? It’s a 1991 Mazda Miata with five raging PSI of athsmatic fly-farts courtesy of a Mitsubishi 3000GT VR-4 turbo to make sure you won’t get passed by Grandma Edith in her 1994 Mercury Grand Marquis (with the vinyl interior, doncha know). It’s a testament to the Modern Man. And boners. Every time I get pulled over for doing 400mph through a school zone full of orphans I just say ‘I’m sorry officer, I didn’t know how fast I was going because I was TOO ERECT’ at which point he is compelled to suck my dick and give me $4,000 in taxpayer dollars for wasting my time.
Things this car has include wheels, brakes, an engine, A/C, a 5 speed transmission that’s tighter than your girlfriend’s virgin asshole, a worn out soft top with more wet holes than your mother, freshly reupholstered seats made of the finest imitation animal flesh, aftermarket springs stiffer than the boner I had while building this beast, a dent in the quarter panel because I had my dick out for harambe and hip-checked a telephone because FUCK AT&T, a check engine light that only comes on when you’re being TOO HEKTIK and the pussy-ass stock computer #literally can’t, upgraded Mazdaspeed fuel injectors, custom-welded exhaust manifold, and a stock exhaust making this car so quiet that bitches won’t even realize you’re sneaking up on them until they’re already pregnant from how awesome this car is.
Things this car doesn’t have:
A radio because no music can compare to the sounds of pure ecstacy your girl/boy/horsefriend will be making in the passenger seat.
Truly glorious, I know. I’ve been daily driving this car lately and my penis is now three feet longer, bringing the total length to one foot. Fantastic. This ultra-manly ode to ‘accidentally’ slipping it in the pooper can be yours for just $1700. That’s right. I didn’t stutter. $1700, ya flaming homos. Drive your clapped-out Civic off a cliff and sit your flabby ass down in this glorious poster-child to “fuck you Mom it’s not a phase”.