When your car runs bad, it's the biggest piece of c*** ever made . . . but when it runs well, ooh baby! you remember why you built this.
The Austang looks all Hollywood, flashy paint, lots of under bonnet bling, low burbly rumble as you cruise about.
But shove the pedal down and it shape-shifts into a snarly, snapping wild demon. The violence of the spectacle is fantastic, smoking tyres, bellowing exhaust, blurring landscape and inevitable goose-bumps.
It is unlikely that I'd ever get my money back, but that doesn't matter . . . it is so much less likely that I would sell this freedom machine.
. . . and isn't that exactly how you feel about your beast?
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