I currently drive a Chrysler 300S and have for several years. I have absolutely zero complaints about my ride other then the fact that, with rear-wheel drive, it’s not the robust champion I’d wish it to be when operating in slush and snow, even with snow tires. But aside from that, there are not many places where you can get this level of sport and luxury without jumping into the big German sedans or Italian racehorses.
Plus, the 12-speaker Beats By Dr. Dre stereo system is an attention getter, perhaps wasted on a man in his sixties, but something I nevertheless make every effort to take advantage of, sixties be-damned.
But nothing can last forever, and I know that. As a gas model, it’s on a bit of a downward slide into oblivion, with no plans to re-boot it as an electric model. In fact, there are no more Chrysler 300s produced at all anymore, meaning I have a bit of a collector’s item. The only problem is that I don’t have the money, the space, the resources, nor talent to baby this thing into the future so I can motor around in it while enjoying my golden years, a situation light on gold and heavy on years.
As they say, nothing lasts forever, and in my hands, it probably lasts a lot less.
If everything goes right in my life, if I continue to exercise, eat the right foods, and look both ways before crossing the street, there will be a half-decent chance that I live long enough to need a new car.
And a new car looks more and more like it’ll be electric, because that’s the way she goes, or the way she’s going, and I honestly have no problem with that.
Up until maybe a year-and-a-half ago, I would have been all-in on a Tesla, except for the fact that I really couldn’t afford one, even with the federal government subsidies that no longer exist because Tesla pulled a fast one on the whole rebate thing. Meaning no more subsidies for Teslas, which is alright by me because I got tired of Elon Musk a long time ago and wouldn’t put a dollar towards anything he’s involved with anyway. I must also confess to a barely-disguised sense of schadenfreude with respect to Elon and his precipitous fall from grace, once considered a Wonder Boy, and now relegated to being just a boy.
That affordability thing is to the point where it becomes moot to be talking about electric vehicles in the first place, unless and until affordable electric vehicles come out from car manufacturers. Or the government lifts the 100% tariff on Chinese EVs, but that would be another point of moral introspection. Refusing to buy a car made by Musk and instead buying one made by the Chinese Communist Party? That’s a tough pivot to make.
Everyone — except those with scads of money — dreams of the car they might have if they, themselves, had the kind of cash where they couldn’t give a fig about sticker price. I play that game too, although I don’t buy lottery tickets, so I haven’t really worked out where all this fantasy cash in my dreams is to come from. I suppose I could strike oil in my backyard, but I rent, so my landlord would come out of that looking a lot better than me, so even that’s to be denied me. Plus, I might face the further indignity of eviction to make room for the pumpers.
Striking oil and homeless on the street. That’s my kind of luck.
Still, I dream, as there’s no harm in it.
My dreams have settled on a certain vehicle, a German one so I can stay away from American products generally and Musk products specifically. And in a fantasy where money is no object, it’s interesting that my eye settles on a vehicle that comes in at the $100,000 price point, which is about the price of most full-sized pickup trucks, or at least the price they were at before tariffs changed all that and put those vehicles in a price range some 25% higher than they were before Trump and his sharpie showed up.
So how does a Porsche Macan 4 Electric bite you? Because it bites me just fine.
First, before going any further, it’s a Porsche, which is the upscale premium version of a Volkswagen, although don’t say that to Porsche owners, because they’d snap the suspenders on their lederhosen at the affront. Actually, to be fair, the Porsche brand is owned by the Volkswagen Group, which also owns Audi, Bentley, Bugatti, and Lamborghini nameplates, so it’s pretty good company for my Porsche to be keeping. I also don’t want anyone thinking that my Macan and the Scooby-Doo Sports Bus come off the same production lines.
A rebate might knock it down to maybe $85,000, but that’s still out of reach unless I decide to make a bit of a career-turn and start selling meth behind the arena. But I suppose all the good drug-selling spots are already taken, probably by a bunch of damned high school kids who always have to wreck everything for everybody else. It doesn’t really matter anyways because I don’t think the government is subsidizing electric vehicles anymore, so we’re back to $100,000, and that’s before taxes.
A person might suggest that I look at a vehicle that doesn’t have the hefty price tag, to live more within my means, stay in my lane, that sort of thing. I’d love for those people to consider the middle finger God gifted me as an instrument of expression. People like that are just here to wreck everything for everybody else, just like those little high school pricks behind the arena.
But people like that don’t know what they’re suggesting.
For ten years I’ve been the boss of bosses in my 300, a car of timeless styling, sporting chops, and elegance to burn. The only thing I was missing was a HEMI engine, because that would have made it the kind of monster that shatters glass in your home as I drive by with that distinctive eight-cylinder growl. Notwithstanding the HEMI, or lack of one, it’s still a legitimate battle cruiser, and I’d have another if they were to keep making them.
So stepping out of this into a Chevy Spark or a Nissan Leaf is a bit of a climb-down in capacity and prestige.
That’ll be the day I walk into Canadian Tire looking for my e-Scooter and helmet as part of the Bargain-Hunter Package from SuperCycle. The little streamers on the handle bars would be dope. For older readers, that means a good time.
If there’s going to be a climb-down, I guess I might just as well climb down all the way. Maybe shave the crown of my head and don a monk’s cloak, chanting melodically into the night while staring at a flickering candle, sustaining myself with yesterday’s white rice, some brackish water, and what I think may have been a tea bag rescued from a landfill. And on weekends, of course, as a little treat, maybe some stale bread out of a dumpster.
Or am I just clogging up another lane?
NEWSMAGRENFREW 