Yep, your bumper sticker really sums it up: when I’m stuck behind your rumbling, rattling, bass-spewing metal box, lowered to within inches of the pavement on giant chrome wheels that destroy any off-road capability your vehicle might have had, with windows tinted to near-opacity more befitting a discreet A-list celebrity or dignitary than an overgrown adolescent knob who wants nothing in the world more than for people to look at him and assume he’s important — which, of course, he isn’t — I must admit I don’t get it.
I guess it really is a Jeep Thing. Maybe if I had selected a noisy, inefficient, bad-handling quasi-military vehicle with no plausible excuse for being driven on normal roadways, I too would see the appeal.
Maybe if it had seemed like a good idea to me to buy something with all the shortcomings of a truck combined as the hauling capacity of a unicycle, I’d get it. Maybe the intricate inner structure of that particular mindset, that “Hey-I-know-what-I’ll-do-I’ll-buy-a-giant-gas-guzzling-behemoth-that-barely-seats-two-and-blocks-everybody-else’s-view-of-the-road-and-then-I’ll-never-even-drive-it-through-a-mud-puddle-for-fear-of-dirtying-the-self-righteous-elitist-slogans-I-plastered-on-that-are-about-one-sixty-fourth-as-clever-or-intriguing-as-I-think-they-are” mentality… maybe that really is only accessible to the likes of you.
So, my concessions and apologies. I hereby confirm that it is indeed a Jeep thing, and that I truly would not understand. Not unless I had a lobotomy.