Bick Skruth is an experienced racer, biker, and hair stylist. He contributes to several web sites, and we are pleased to welcome him to Autoblopnik.
Hi, beautiful intelligent people! I’ve just come back from driving the Jaguar F-TYPE Coupe at Willow Springs International Raceway. It’s always good fun to share the track with a bunch of spoiled automotive writers who brag about their racing credentials and then get out there and run a line that looks like Michael J. Fox’s autograph. I could have outrun every single one of those guys in my Honda, blindfolded with my hands and feet bound and with a dwarf giving me a blowjob, but of course I didn’t drive anywhere near that fast because I don’t want to show everyone up. I did manage to smoke the brakes on a few cars and flat-spot the tires on a couple more, but that’s because I’m awesome. And yet Jaguar took this to mean that I was “driving too aggressively” and asked me to leave the track. Jacktards.
After the track it was off to dinner with the geriatric NACATOTY shuffle-steerers and the ever-more-irrelevant print magazine “journalists”. It’s always amusing to sit down and hear these guys compare the evening’s fare to the Bentley breakfast in Buenos Aires or the S-Class spread in Stuttgart. Truth is, you could substitute shit for the shiitakes on their filet mignon and most of these wannabes wouldn’t know the difference. I’ve enjoyed better meals in Malaysian whorehouses. No, seriously, the food in Malaysian whorehouses is really good. Not that my “colleagues” would know this. Dickwagons.
So how is the Jaguar F-TYPE Coupe? It amazes me how journalists get all excited by a loud exhaust and some fake wood on the dash. Truth is this is just another English shitpile that will generate enough warranty claims to fund the defense budget of Uganda, but the so-called “journalists” don’t care because by then they’ll be busy with the Panamera preview in Peru or the Sonata soiree in Switzerland, and even if they did attempt to feign some interest in the plight of the real-world buyer with whom they are so desperately out of touch, they’d never risk terminating that next trip to Tunisia by writing anything bad about the car. Yes it’s fast but the truth is a skilled helmsmith like myself can make better time in my amazingly awesome Accord, the most perfect car ever crafted by man, not that I would want to do that of course because then I would embarrass the Jaguar engineers who seem to think they’ve created something truly excellent. Titwankers.
Not that any of this matters, because automotive journalism is dead. It’s just a bunch of PR flacks flying a bunch of overfed hacks around the world so the can write fancy stories telling acne-faced 19-year-olds who can’t afford a car anyway how awesome their lives are. The truth is that the car buying public doesn’t read anything we write. They will happily drive whatever piece of automotive mediocrity they can get for $99 down and $249 a month with free extended warranty and paint sealant. The general public are mindless sheep and don’t give a green shit about cars, the exception being the people who read my web site who are the brightest and sweetest-smelling people in the world. Pigfuckers.
You can read more of Bick Skruth at TrueShitAboutCars.com.