I was walking the dog this afternoon. We stopped at an intersection in our neighborhood and this really fancy, souped up, late model Challenger pulled to a stop right in front of us. I mean, this thing was decked out, upgraded, chrome rims, and spotless black with after market dark gray racing stripes. Obviously a car show worthy Challenger.
The windows are down and I’m about to tell the dude driving that he’s got a nice car but he’s fidgeting with the radio. He stops on a station he likes and cranks up the volume. Lady Gaga.
The light changes, he floors it, peeling out with a roar. Too little, too late.
All respect for this dude just totally disappeared. He’s driving a souped up muscle car, blaring Lady Gaga on the stereo. And it wasn’t even a decent Lady Gaga song, it was some crappy one I’d never heard before.
Now, if it was a woman driving the car I would have totally been fine with whatever she wanted to listen to, but a dude driving a beefed up, testosterone pumping, racing machine should have a little more self respect.
There should be some sort of Muscle Car Cops. They pull over a guy in his Challenger and he’s playing pop music, they take it away. “I’m sorry sir, but you don’t deserve this car. Next time by a VW Bug.”
As far as I’m concerned, when a man buys a muscle car it should come with a special radio that only has two channels: heavy metal and 70-80’s rock. Maybe throw in a hard core rap station too, just for some variety.
No pop. No modern, crappy music. Heavy metal, 70-80’s rock, and maybe hard core rap.
That is all.