When you're sitting there in front of the screen, conjuring vision of murder and righteous spectacle in your far-too stimulated ID, one of the discomfiting sensations is the need to have a Second to sneer and and bare teeth and spur you onwards to the heights and depths of depravity.
But you're alone...
And the part that's so jarring is realizing that the Second is there... somewhere. Just not here.
...Someone who could appreciate the beautiful simplicity of a 2 door Mopar.
Or a perfectly encapsulated stab to the aorta of an ill-intentioned idealogue.
And the lowered eyebrows and wicked grin of malice, well-intentioned.
Or the one that taught you why we drink when we're not supposed to.
heh. But really it's the unspoken understanding of how fucking miraculous that Mopar is, in a day of plastinated supercars and hyper-massaged, 4 wheel-drive rice-racers.
Still. The new GT is a better looking design than the original GT-40.