I was recently telling a buddy of mine that I’m thinking about heading to California for a few days, at which point he immediately reminded me that I would be assaulted without end by one of the things I hate more than just about anything on the whole entire planet: Tricked Out Cars.
Tricked out cars, like most things I hate, don’t piss me off for conventional reasons. I don’t hate them because I’m ‘hating’. I don’t hate them because the men (and a few cock-envying women) that drive them tend to be pompous douchebags.
I hate them because they are a constant reminder of the fact that people make shitty decisions, and they are still allowed the same number of votes that I am.
Tricking out your car can start with one of two items – your wheels, or your sound system. Where you start depends on which gender of impressionable fucktard you’re most interested in wowing with your irresponsible spending habits that you’ve adopted, quite ironically, to mask an utter lack of personality*.
Wheels (rims) tend to be more expensive but are easier to install and are more noticeable to impressionable female idiots. This is a good place to start if you have a lot of money but don’t have a clue. Sound systems aren’t quite as expensive as rims, but are far more complicated to install and, if installed correctly, present an intimidation factor that wows impressionable male idiots.
Figure 1: Can you get silicosis from your own tits?
After you’ve poured anywhere between $10K – $20K into your depreciating asset and augmented the #1 macro-level cause of black and brown people in this country not having a goddamn motherfucking dime to their names with which to combat what seems to be an increasingly correct perception among the general public that black and brown twenty-something males are, without a doubt, the most uncompromising, ferocious, and proactive bringers of self-destruction on the face of this fucked up planet…you’re ready to move on to paint.
Lots of guys prefer to go with flame or fire designs, because it lets you use just one symbol to make two statements: 1.) I have a fast car, and 2.) I am a homosexual. If you’re not (completely) gay, you can go with some kind of neon glitter paint design, a bi/tri color sport design like in Figure 1, or some insanely intricate portrait/tribal-tatoo/asian calligraphy design. Either way, be prepared to shell out an additional $1K – $5K for your paint depending on the complexity of the design and reputation of the artist.
Figure 2: You can avoid looking like a queer if your car looks like it was involved in a 30’s mob war
At this point, you’re at a fork in the road that gives you two ways to extend your automotive bender of stupidity. You can either go the Gran Turismo route and try to make your car as fast as possible, or you can go the purely aesthetic route and start adding unnecessary accessories.
The Gran Turismo route is the way to impress guys. The easiest way to tune your car for racing is to buy a stronger clutch, get a lighter flywheel, upgrade the exhaust, install a turbocharger (or, if you like spending money for no reason – and of course you do – a supercharger) and NOS canisters, tack on a boost controller, install carbon fiber paneling, get some kind of engine-regulating chip thrown in, buy tires and a new suspension that can handle the speed, and then apologize to your father for being born.
You’ve just spent $30,000 to make a 1997 Honda Civic do 0-60 in 5 seconds when you could have used the same amount of cash (plus the $10K – $25K you spent on rims, stereo, and paint) on a late model S4, M3, or Z06 and had time left over to make more money, work on your personality, and otherwise not be an idiot. Oh well.
Once you’ve done all this, you can spend Friday night at the oversized parking lot in a Taco Bell or gas station where two dozen other douches park their cars and rev their engines for no damn reason. When chicks approach, you can tell them what you did to your car and they’ll think you’re awesome because they have no idea what the fuck you’re talking about. I’m not even being sarcastic at this point. There is at least one girl reading this blog right now sporting a newly moistened vagina because the last paragraph would seem to indicate that I know what the hell I’m talking about. Jesus Tapdancing Christ.
Figure 3: No matter what you do, at the end of the day it’s still a fucking Civic
The purely aesthetic route is that taken by people who want to spend less money but still create the illusion of speed. There are a number of ways to do this: install fog lights, paint your calipers red, put stickers all the fuck over your windshield, add undercarriage and/or interior glow lighting (add a blacklight if you want to be able to see the semen spit out by the chicks who are actually addicted to enough coke to suck your lumber in your car), get your seats reupholstered with ‘illegal leoparrrrrrrd’ (hispanics only), install a rear spoiler on your front wheel drive car (you stupid sonofabitch), install useless body paneling and fake intakes, add brightly colored engine hoses and chromed engine components, tint the windows, and replace the steering wheel with a low-diameter ‘rally’ wheel.
Once you’ve done all this, go out and snag yourself a chick, then bask in your own hypocrisy when you find out she has fake hair, fake fingernails, fake eyelashes, fake color contacts, caps on her teeth, spray-on tan, fake tits, empire waist top hiding her gut, and bad credit…and you have the nerve to get upset at her when you’re doing the EXACT SAME THING.
* It’s ironic because a unique car is supposed to achieve one of three things: a.) make you appear to have unique personality and moxie, b.) make you appear wealthy, or c.) both**. People targeting goal A, however, never have personality. If they did, they wouldn’t need the fucking car.
** There is a tiny minority population of guys who trick out their cars because that’s just what they love to do. These cats I have no problem with.