When one is the king of an empire of fried chicken joints, one should travel in a style befitting one's station. Of course there are Lincoln Town Coupes for church and El Caminos for hauling mcnuggets between stores and 98s for the daily grind of Gross Pointe wannabes. But what about date night. The kind of dates where the wife and kids are at home. How does one troll for and keep a Saturday night "honey there's a problem at the store and I have to do another 'drawer audit'" piece of ass on the side?
Karma: "Drawer audit"? You really said that? Was that cutesy BS your own, or did you read it in Playboy? Do you think she is THAT frigging stupid? Do you not think you just bought yourself a double tap when you're caught by being cute?
Enter the C3 Corvette. In nice safe, noncontroversial maroon. Red's just a bit too extroverted, even for a "EVERYBODY LOOK an my compensatory skills" car like this.
Yes, it has a V8, so you can pretend you're a young man. Yes, it has leather, so it will remind your confidential Italian secretary of what's to come. Yes, it has an automatic, because you really wanted a Monte Carlo for the stoplight BJs you read about in Penthouse Forum - clutches and rowing gears is too distracting - but it just lacked that certain athletic pretense. And really, wouldn't you really rather roll up to the disco, and then the Downtowner in one of these.