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“What is the perfect car for a geek?”

With the fluctuating and unstable rollercoaster of gas prices, the world focusing on the environment, and each of us needing to do our own part in helping our planet, you would think that this would be an easy answer.

To get the perfect car for the perfect geek, you’d need to satisfy the following requirements. Something:

* Practical
* Environmentally Friendly
* and Alternative Fuel Conscious

Right?

Wrong.

We’re geeks. What do we care about the environment? F** the planet – we all plan to live in space anyway.

But while we’re waiting for our own personal Lunar Love Nest to be built, we do need a way to get around that doesn’t involve borrowing a set of Tinkerbelle covered key rings from our mother. Which is why if you want the absolutely PERFECT car for a geek, you’d have to chose from one of these three:

The ORIGINAL Batmobile – Notice that we specify the word “original” in all caps?

This is because some of our younger readers might not know what the *REAL* Batmobile looks like, and no – we’re not talking about that wanna-be-tank that Christian Bale and his vision blocking skin tag drives around in.

You see, with the popularity of Batman, and the constant changes that he goes through, depending on what cartoon you’re watching, people forget that the original Batmobile wasn’t about guns and explosions or rocket propelled grappling hooks.

It was about pimping.

As a real life, non-CGI’d car, it could only obtain a maximum speed of 55 miles an hour. Anything faster than that and Burt Ward’s toupee would fly off leaving people to ponder why the “Boy Wonder” was really a 46 year old man in tights. If often broke down, was slow to pick up speed, and was full of useless knobs and levels that did nothing when you pulled them, unless you count “snapping off in your hand” as a function.

But it was still f***ing COOL.

Why?

Because it had FIRE coming out of the back. Any true geek will tell you that it doesn’t matter how fast a car goes, or how much gas mileage it can obtain. What really and truly matters at the end of the day is:

“Does your car shoot f***ing FIRE out of the back of it?”

If your answer is anything besides “yes”, you know in your heart of hearts that you’ve failed as a man, and that you’re driving the wrong vehicle. Sure, it gets you to work – and yes, you might actually really like it, but when push comes to shove, you’d trade it without even the slightest hesitation for something that shoots fire.

Plus? Even if they don’t work, extra knobs and levers kick ass.

The General Lee

It’s bright orange, has a rebel flag on the roof, and plays “Dixie” whenever you lay on the horn. Everything about this vehicle screams “sister humping redneck” at the top of it’s unfiltered Marlboro smoke filled lungs, and you know damn well that if you were to check the trunk, it would be full of white sheets and hastily cut eyeholes.

Yet, even if it were packed to the roof with clan members and burning crosses, there isn’t a person alive that would associate this vehicle with anything even remotely racist.

Because, dude. It’s the General Lee.

It doesn’t matter than one of its regular drivers looked like the poster boy for the Aryan Nation, and it doesn’t matter that the flag on top was waved in the civil war by the side that opposed freedom and fought for slavery – the General Lee isn’t about any of that.

It doesn’t stand for ignorance or repression, and it doesn’t fill you with hate or rage when you see it. It transcends racial prejudice and bigotry with every blast of its song playing horn. We know that it has nothing to do with racism, because the General Lee has one purpose and one purpose only…

To jump over anything that gets in its way.

And as we all know, there is nothing in this WORLD as aerodynamically sound as a 1969 Dodge Charger.

Luckily for Bo and Luke Duke, every road in Hazard County was in a permanent state of disrepair. You couldn’t drive a single mile without passing at least a dozen conveniently placed piles of ramp shaped dirt. And if by some stroke of back luck you COULDN’T find a road repair crew to scare the piss out of when you flew past at 900 miles an hour?

You could just hit a bush. Or some weeds. Or a flower garden. Or a mailbox.

It didn’t matter, the General Lee could jump it.

The folks of Hazzard County didn’t care much for things like “physics” or “aerodynamics” or “gravitational laws” – it was a simpler time. If a man felt the urge to launch his classic muscle car two hundred feet in order to get safely across the county line – then by gum, he was going to do it. And there wasn’t a damn thing anyone could do about it.

Especially since there isn’t a cop in this world who would step over the County Line, shoot both inbred cousins in the chest, plant a gun on them, burn their car to the ground and claim self defense because there wasn’t an eye-witness within a 100 miles.

Some things are just sacred.

K.I.T.T.

It had turbo boosters like the Batmobile, could soar through the air like the General Lee on helium, and God damn it…

…it f***ing TALKED to you.

If you wanted to get laid in 1982, (*Note* I didn’t. I was 8. I just ran around pretending to be David Hasslehoff and talking into a rubber band that I wore on my skinny little wrist because I didn’t have a watch. *End Note*) all you needed was a black Trans Am and a handful of red LED’s. Chicks went insane for these cars which is why to this very day, every Italian man is given one on his 16th birthday.

Sort of like a gold chain and hair grease spattered rite of passage.

K.I.T.T. was more than just a car, he was a friend. He wasn’t some lame-ass robot that had a bunch of phrases that he could repeat – K.I.T.T. TALKED to you. He knew your name, he knew when you were in trouble, and he knew when it was time to crash through a wall, bump the bad guy with his fender, and then speed off leaving everyone largely unharmed, but visibly shaken or unconscious.

Because if we’re looking for one thing in our vehicle of choice, it is the ability to plow into a crowd full of people without doing any lasting damage, or scratching its paint. A car should be able to jump without bending its frame, launch into a fiery blur of speed without setting the people behind it ablaze, or have alternative sources of fuel that involve atomic batteries and twelve pound neck tumors.

That, or it should be able to talk to chicks for us.

Because chicks dig talking cars.

-Coyote