Questions that answer themselves, Episode Duh

This is (sort of) the Tesla Model 3. It's an all-electric car with a 0-60 speed in the 6 second range and a price starting in the mid-30s. No one's sure what they look like on the inside. No one knows when they're getting one--or exactly the state of the facility they'll be built in. Which hasn't stopped 400,000 people from making a $1000 deposit to save their place in line.

A certain competitor (Nissan) was miffed by the Model 3's hoopla.






It raised a question they honestly shouldn't have asked. Not at all ever.
ESPECIALLY when the cars cost about the same.

(no subject)

Bigot of the Week

(Actually, this happened a few months ago--but a couple pics inspired me to post. You'll see)

During one of my first winter trips to the do-it-yourself car wash, I made a lil whoopsie while removing my WeatherTech mats. My car's exterior was clean, but had spilled a bit of salt/sand/mud inside the passenger footspace. So I drove 'round back to the vacuum area and--there's this guy near the car at the next stall.

Dressed in a brownish camo jacket, standing off to the side while his wife did the actual work. Pointing at me. Sneering. Making lil' remarks to his daughter. When reaching for my towel to dry my still-damp car, he snorted Ah Gats the SHAM-WOW in a voice loud enough for me to hear.

Didn't hurt my feelings. Couldn't. To be more precise? He wasn't qualified to do that.
You see, I 'gats the sham-wow' for a car that was maybe six months old and mostly the way I liked it.
Meanwhile....?







He was driving another car I loved. A Furd Taurus of the 96-99 model years.
No, honestly. Liked it so much, I bought one back when they were new.
And then? Another one after my divorce with leather and the big engine.

Except that was quite some time ago and now they're all old beaters AND and the car in the photo looked better than his. Cuz his was caked in dirt, then mud and a crisp outer layer of road salt. A less-than-delicate parfait of filth. Again...honestly. I can't embellish on this enough. That. thing. was. NASTY.

He kept sniping. No idea what he said. Even less of a clue why. Couldn't stop peeking at him now and then with a silly--but utterly befuddled--grin on my face. Why would he choose to poke at me? And me in particular? Why Why Why...? Wouldn't a bully with half a brain pick a POOR black person to berate?

But I kept to myself and kept making my much nicer car look nicer. Had my reasons.

You see, I used to own a couple of those cars. Long enough to know about their particular flaws. For instance, their ignition systems. And how models with a few hundred thousand miles on them (would that be all of them now? Yes) respond when they're started a few minutes after shutdown.

More correctly, when you TRY to start one.

And again.

Worse yet, again.

They piled in their beater, shut the doors--aFROOOfrooofrooo. AhhWHEEEZE-gag-choke.
Didn't look up. Kept drying my car.

Gurgle-gurgle-gurgle-gurgle-griinnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnd. Oh NOW they've done it.

I walked over while they sat in their flooded antique and gave them a look like

Whoops. MY turn with the jokes.