Congratulations on Finding a Talking Car!

You’ve been driving around for most of this week in a Subaru Hatchback.  That’s fine if you want to pick up moms or posture yourself in a manner that implies you care about the environment.  But it’s not great if you want to fulfill an elaborate plot to disgrace a corrupt infrastructure.  So today you’re going to drive your car, with your sister and your talking giraffe with a shadowy past riding along, into the wall of a secret government lab.

Once you’re through the wall, you’re going to go deeper and deeper into its halls, with your sister ripping out throats and the giraffe shooting people in the face left and right.  It’ll be tremendously interesting, but it’s all ancillary to what we’re here to talk about today: the sweet ass talking car you’re going to find in the sub-sub-basement of this government lab.

It’ll be a hybrid of David Hasselhoff’s consciousness and the chassis of a classic Dodge Charger (1969), which will make it the perfect car for people who still think mullets are cool and/or people who build plans based on the plot of Night Rider episodes.

Once you enter its car-chamber, you’ll be greeted by David Hasselhoff’s rich voice emanating from the car’s trunk subwoofer.

“Oh thank Christ!” the car will scream.  “I thought I was going to die here!”

You’ll ask it how it, as a car, can actually die, at which point a buzzing will take over its speakers before it repeats:  “Oh thank Christ!  I thought I was going to die here!”

You’ll give up talking to it right away and instead load your sister and your weird animal friend into your sweet new ride and take the elevator up, out of the lab.  On your way out the car will drive itself, largely avoiding harming any lab personnel because of an ethical subroutine in its consciousness programming that prevents it from killing unnecessarily.  You’ll grudgingly accept that you won’t be able to use the car to kill anyone directly, and that it’s probably a bad idea to make what is effectively a robot capable of committing acts of random murder, but it’ll be vaguely anticlimactic.  After all that trouble, the killing and the breaking and entry and the destruction of the car where your lost your anal virginity to your frat brother Glenn, you thought you’d get more.

But, of course, life doesn’t always work out as you want it to. So as you drive back to your college, filling in the car on the last five years of popular culture with help from your sister and the giraffe, both of whom watch a lot of reality shows about drag queens and weddings, you’ll come to terms with disappointment, loss, and the bittersweet joy of a plan coming together.

Congratulations on Finding a Talking Car!