"As you already aware from your earlier inquiry, the regulars at COTW are busy", she almost lifelessly retorts, but not before pushing up her glasses for the umpteenth time, not even looking up from her own folders when mine hit the desk. "We've selected you as you write the most drawn out reviews, which allows us to place as many ads in as possible".
"Fine", I bitterly retrieve my folder with a bit if a stretch across the table. I got up and turned to leave the room, and Esther the editor, my chaperone for my short trip to Germany, followed suit. Descending the stairs to the pit garage and making it round the door for the first time, a loud racing car greeted my sights in the dead quiet garage. There might've been a Mercedes GT3 car buried somewhere under the cyan and pink paintjob, sponsorship decals, and under the skirt of Hatsune Miku, but I honestly can't tell.
"So... what have we here?"
"A car for you to review"
"Okay, but... what is it?"
"It's a racing car"
I'm not sure if I detected a hint of frustration in her last statement, so I figure it's best for me if I just looked it up myself. I took another look at the folder in my hand again. I'm sure they buried... aha, here it is. Some basic info on the car I'm reviewing.
This appears to be an AMG GT3, mechanically identical to the one HTP Motorsports ran in 2016's 24 Hours of Nürburgring, albeit with a vastly different livery due to copious amounts of time spent in Japan. Without Balance of Performance, the car produces 621PS from it's 6.2L V8 transplanted from its bigger sister, the SLS, and mounted behind the front axle, solely driving the rear wheels, as if that needed mentioning. The whole package weighs just 1,325kg, which is perhaps a bit on the heavier side for a GT3 class car, but light for what I'm usually reviewing, which tend to be modern, fat, and bloated "sports" cars.
"What a stupid name for a racing car", I quip. "AMG GT3 could mean any GT3 car AMG worked on. Hardly tells me what it is". Even before getting to writing the review, I was already finding problems with the car. "What's the point of having this engine in this car if I can't buy this car with this engine? I thought FIA wanted to make the race cars close to the road cars", I continue, almost as if on a mental momentum of complaining. Maybe that's why I've so much to say in reviews, because I'll complain about anything. Might be a Singaporean thing. "Amazing how much wasted space must be in the road car if you can still have space for a 6.2L V8 wholly behind the front axle. Says here the road car's weight distribution with the 4.0L V8 is 47:53? It's just meant to come with this engine, isn't it?"
Esther looks at me with no reply, almost with a quizzical, "am I supposed to reply to that?" look on her face. I sigh internally and get straight to business.
Missing its traditional gullwing doors, opening the Hatsune Miku car up and getting into her was customarily painful and difficult for a GT3 racing machine, as I weave and groan through webs of restraints and roll cages. God I'm old. All is immediately forgiven however, the moment you press the engine start button. If nature gave birth to mechanical, fuel powered bears... then this is undoubtedly what they would sound like. It is a sound that immediately commands attention and respect, even before travelling a centimetre in it.
I'll be honest: I've never driven a Mercedes. Ever. Not even in a simulator. A GT3 racing car is probably the only thing from the company could interest me, someone who's looking more for driver exhilaration than status symbols, and it's exactly what I'm popping my Merc cherry with today. The first, and pretty much the only thing I know about them as a stranger is that the three letters, "AMG", might as well be a diagnosis. An admission of lunacy, of no self restraint, of violent tendencies, and then somehow dignifying and excusing that behaviour via marketing. I'm quietly hoping the racing car shows a lot more finesse than that today. Though, if anything, the engine start already has me fully locked into full confirmation bias mode.
I ease the AMG out of the pits, letting the tyre and fluids get up to temperature before attacking the course, which gave me time to appreciate how weird the world currently is. The usually bustling Nürburgring, dream destination all year round for people all over the globe, is now completely barren and devoid of life, stands empty and roller coasters at a standstill. The track itself was quiet enough to hear birds chirping away before the AMG rolled by. As the cherry on the cake, someone with only one win to his name in an FIA race in a low split amateur lobby, me, is suddenly tasked to drive cars on said desolate tracks for reviews.
Pictured: Perfectly legal and normal.
Make no mistake, for all my trivial complaints against the car, this is a properly solid racing car. Not only is it fast, it might just be the easiest GT3 car to drive, as well, seeing as it's front-mid engined instead of rear-mid engined. It also lacks any turbocharging, which separates it from the shockingly vast majority of FR GT3 cars in Gran Turismo sanctioned events, meaning the engine won't suddenly punch you in the guts and swing the rear out on you as and when it pleases. It seemed almost only natural that Mercedes-Benz won two World Tour events in a row, given the sheer brilliance of the AMG GT3. With Kaminori Samauchi's consistent blessing, the AMG is still one of the faster cars in a straight line even with BoP applied to this day, as Gr. 3 looks to slow down more and more with the nerfing of the well known missiles like the Supra, GT-R, and my long time Manufacturer Series weapon, the erstwhile Atenza.
Competitive merits aside, the AMG is a hell of a hoot to drive! The NA V8 engine is seemingly never out of breath wherever and whenever you ask it for power; even when scraping 3.5k rpm in 2nd in the penny pinching tight T1, the M159 engine gets up and goes with all the grace and speed of an athlete kipping up, barely missing a step, so natural you'd never guess it wasn't meant to happen. There was never a moment where I didn't have enough power to break out the Racing Hard shod rears of the car if I wanted to. Fully revved out, the high pitched transmission whine perfectly contrasts the low pitched growl and scream of the V8. This car is simply endless theatrics, as each gear change, up and down, sound so disgustingly and satisfyingly violent, like cocking a gun with exaggerated cartoon violence, and the "gunshots" are the endless cackles and burbles of the exhaust as the car trail brakes into the corner. This is truly a car that will never stop shouting, never stop entertaining, and never stops being a cartoon character. The smile on my face when I drive this thing would have to be surgically removed in order to not narrow my tiny Asian eyes more and obstruct my view out and over the long bonnet of the car.
In a highly regulated, often adjusted for balance field that is Gr. 3, the AMG GT3 is consistently a very clear cut above its competition in terms of refinement, ease of use, and even fun factor. And that I think is the highest praise I can give to a racing car. So Mercedes CAN build proper sports cars when they want to! Or was the suspension done by HTP Motorsport?
After ten or so laps flat out, I eased the AMG back into the pits, a tail of burbles and crackles following close behind. I'd be offended if these sounds aren't stock sound effects in Vocaloid. Taking extreme liberties with track limits, particularly in the entirety of Sector 1 and in the last chicane as per drunk Gran Turismo marshals officiating, I set a lap time of 1:58.377, after ten or so laps of going flat out. Maybe I could've shaved off a tenth or two more if I really dedicated more time to it, or if I let the fuel levels drop more, but I figure with the inane track limits and lacklustre skills, bleeding edge lap times weren't what they hired me for. I'm not the fastest driver in COTW; I'm the cheapest. Apparently.
Esther the editor was in the pit garage when I backed the AMG in. "Are you done?!", she tries to shout over the idling of the racing engine blaring behind me. Her business suit is usually a perfect fit for her quiet and undisclosed personality, letting her blend into the background of previous settings in our meetings unnoticed, belying her rather cute appearance if one were to spend any time looking at her specifically. Here in the pits however, with her hands over her ears propping up locks of hair in a frayed mess on either side of her head, trying to shout over a racing spec 6.2L V8 engine, she couldn't be more out of place if she tried.
"Yeah, I should have enough material for a review!", I shout back after killing the engine, finding it hard to modulate and judge an appropriate volume after having spent a solid 20 or so minutes at full tilt in a racing car, ears still ringing in a now dead silent garage.
"Good! I'll let my colleagues know you're ready to take the Zonda...", she, too, continues to shout, before awkwardly trailing off in volume as her sentence continued, realisation hitting her how loud she was unintentionally being. Her face was quickly hidden by her adjusting her specs again, she quickly looked away in embarrassment and started to scuttle away as fast as her bandage skirt and high heels would let her.
"The WHAT?!", I shout as I clumsily fling the door open, this time half intentionally as she was already putting distance between me and herself, and half unintentionally because I REALLY couldn't hear what she just said. The ringing in my ears and the vibration still reverberating through my body made it sound like she said a Honda or something. I wasn't aware of any plans for oil leaks today.
Too late. She was gone. I know she heard me. What a fucking asshole!
Admittedly, racing brings out the worst in me, as I get very angsty, impatient, and short tempered. It's just the nature of racing, I think. It's just very hard to recalibrate your mind to work at human speeds when it's been so attuned to react to things happening at over 250km/h with your life on the line. Does it excuse the bad attitude? Maybe. I don't know. How would one describe this to someone who's never been in it, and felt it for themselves? It's a very primal thing, almost. But it's also precisely because of this, coupled with the ability to know, trust, and push something to the limit in life, that makes me feel alive when racing.
Helmet and gloves off, racing suit partially torn down to slacks, I sat down with a bottle of water, going through the photos of me on the track on the laptop and trying to formulate my thoughts and align them into a cohesive direction for the review. Esther returned from the door which she hastily disappeared through, now back to her calm, composed, unshakable strides. With an introductory push of her spectacles once again, she begins in her all too familiar, devoid of feeling voice. "Mr. Lee, may I know what are you doing?"
Looking up at her, now hunched over my head, I try to reciprocate the coldness in effort to hide a blush. "Huh? Oh, just making sure I've enough shots for the review, to see if I need photos of anything else before hitting the showers. Why?"
"The showers? Oh, no, that won't be necessary. This week's car is ready."
"...huh? I just drove it. I hav-"
On her politely outstretched hand is a key that looked as vintage as it was plain. A silver, metallic round head with 6 circles on it, with an unassuming key sticking out of it. It looked like the key to a pre-WWII beater Honda. While consciously puzzled, subconsciously I reached out in a daze in response and took the key. "What am I supposed to do with this?"
"Drive it for a review. It's just next door."
"Two cars this week?"
"Not technically, no. But it's a special request."
"Am I getting paid for two cars?"
"That depends on you."
She leads me around to the garage next door, and as I rounded the divider wall, my jaw dropped to the floor.
Sweet mother of baby Christ on a bike...
Cloaked by its own bare carbon shell in the darkness of the unlit pits was a figure that was... exquisite, would be the first world that comes to mind. Distinct, would be the second. Crazy, third. And after that, any amount of adjectives you could feasibly throw at it seemingly gets drowned out by the insanity of it all. Such is the sensory overload you get with this thing, even as barely more than a silhouette as I'm seeing it right now. This is a car with a presence, if I could say that without losing my job as a writer for making the understatement of the century.
It was a Pagani Zonda. A 1.8 MILLION USD, 1 of 15 ever made, top of the line, Zonda R.
Now I see where this week's budget went.
"So, ah... I'm... supposed, to drive this?"
"Yes"
"For a review"
"Yes"
"And I can complain about it"
"Yes"
I asked those questions and I got direct answers, yet what I was trying to ask was, "what am I doing here? What is this? Why am I here, doing this? What have I done in my life to deserve this? Is my life insurance up to date? Did my secondary school crush really hate me?" And I didn't get an answer to any of that.
"You'll need your earplugs", she said, before leaving.
I just stood there, dumbstruck, even after the initial shock and realisation of getting to drive a Pagani wore off. The Zonda R is an exquisitely beautiful car, with a booming, undeniable presence in any setting it appears in. No car has arrested my eyes with the same immediacy and firmness as the Zonda before. And perhaps it's not even fair to call it "just" a Zonda, because the R looks so vastly different from the few pictures of the road going Zondas I've seen. I'm hard pressed to find any panels they share in common. The door looks the same, and... that's... it I think. Every other panel, in naked carbon fibre, has had holes engraved into them with artistic and painstaking flair, in the name of performance, or has had other aero parts drilled into them. The fragile looking, leaf like, flowing side mirrors now sit atop turbulent air extractors on the front quarter panels. The bonnet has twin alcoves digging into where a Roadster's roof would stow. It has air intakes on its roof and sides leading to its rear mid mounted V12, reminiscent of LMP1 cars not just in scoops, but in dimensions and stance as well. It sits at a shadow scraping 75mm and 90mm ride height front and rear, and in a dark room like the one I'm standing in right now, you'd almost think the Zonda was a huge road hump with how visually tightly it hugs the road, even at a standstill. And to top it all off, the exquisite, stretched out, graceful, and aggressive exterior is pinned down by huge, towering aero parts, most prominent of which is of course the rear wing that spans the entire width and height of the car. And it's a car that never lets your eyes go once it has them; the more you look at it, the more intricacies you find. The winglets on this Airbus worthy wing are actually drilled to the body, forming a complete seal, and are thus almost wing stands in themselves. There are actually two wing blades, and each look to be adjustable. And out the back, a copious length of what looks to be white-hot quad exhausts can be traced back through the playfully teasing, wide open grille, snaking into an engine bay that I'm not able to open up by myself.
I'll admit, I have a weakness for bare carbon fibre cars. I'll also admit that I didn't know I had said weakness until I saw a Zonda R. While minimal, I love what decals this car has. I'm especially a fan of how the metallic gold wheels and stripes perfectly accentuate and break up the car, giving viewers a real sense of proportion when looking at it. This is a car that, if I were to own, I would absolutely refuse to "decorate" with liveries or decals; it's perfect as it is. So perfect. Too perfect. Anything else on it would be uncouth and vulgar, and would only serve desecrate this art piece. Once someone puts their signature on something, you just don't touch it. You just don't.
...am I done? With this review? With this life? The Zonda R is almost a car you could appreciate and get your fill of by just... sitting and staring at it. Quietly. Alone. Any place this car ends up in immediately becomes an art gallery, a museum. No, no you don't eat chips in a museum. No you don't go running around in an art gallery. No you don't speak to someone else in a museum. You stop, you stare, and you admire. That is what you're supposed to do when a Zonda R is in the same room as you.
...I'm not done with this review, am I?
Fully suited up, helmets, gloves, earplugs, and everything again, I got into the not-at-all road legal Zonda, and it wasn't much easier than getting into the AMG GT3 earlier, given this thing's high and wide door sills that could have their own zip codes. I know carbon fibre is light and strong, but this thing feels so much like an art display I'm constantly nervous about breaking something, as art pieces tend to be fragile. Once I'm in, the whole admiration process begins again, except this time, I'm... part of the display now. I began to realise that this isn't something you put up on display and promptly leave be; this is something that's built, for you, the driver, to be in. This piece of art isn't complete without a driver the design is so centred around. Yet, in this cocoon of carbon weaves, it still gives you that same, satisfactory feeling as you did as when you were looking at it from the outside. I'm fine with never pushing the engine start button. I'm fine with never going anywhere in this thing. This, as it is, is good enough for me. It can be just as attention grabbing and intricate as any driving experience can be. This can be enough if you so choose. And this sense of entitlement, this sense of power of choice, this sensory overload, this indulgence, finally made me understand, if only a little, what it must mean and feel like to be rich and powerful. No other car, luxury or otherwise, has given me this sensation before.
"This is a job, this is a job", I told myself, as I gingerly slot the key in and push the engine start button. And then, for just a split second, I could've sworn the entire pit garage shook apart from the SOUND of this thing starting. While I mentioned earlier the proportions of this car reminds me of a LMP1, the sound this engine makes is more akin to a late 80s Group C monster.
Going for the same warm up laps, it was immediately clear to me that this thing is a racecar, even if not advertised as one. It has a Mercedes sourced 6L V12 sitting aft my right ear. It has the same straight cut gearbox whine and associated violence in the shifts as the AMG I drove earlier. You still need a racing suit and proper ear protection to drive. The racing slicks its on do need to be warmed before you can fully exploit them. It has NO rear view save for side mirrors. It has deep buckets with 5 point harnesses. It has an engine killswitch and extinguisher as per regulations a race car would have to adhere to. The analogue tach in the centre of the wheel tells me more that this car has no airbags than the engine's revs. And, more prominently than any of the visually observable racing car chops, the ride of this thing is rock solid. There is no perceptible give and sway from the driver seat in the suspension when you accelerate, when you brake, when you turn. I used to think all track only, not road legal toys are stupid wannabe things, but this, this, is a proper racecar, seemingly built for a category not yet devised. It feels that legit.
Once the car is properly warmed up, and once I finally worked up the balls to, I began to explore the limits of the R on the track, and that's where the differences between it and the AMG from earlier starts to show. While the 6.2L V8 in the AMG sounds very "German", with its low grumble and heapings of torque over a comparatively low rev range, the 6.0L V12 in this is a high pitched screamer that makes its magic only when the digital tachometer is at least half full. This engine is more Italian than some Italian supercar offerings I don't want to sully this review with by mentioning. It's amazing to think that the same German company is responsible for both of these vastly different, yet each equally beautiful and enjoyable powerplants.
I want to preface my comments about the handling of this car by first saying this: this is a 750PS 6.0L V12 sitting in a car that has a curb mass of 1,070kg. It is absurdly, mind bendingly, needlessly, and irresponsibly fast. Nobody will be able to say that the R is easy to drive, no matter how skilled they are, no matter what they've driven, and no matter what their yard sticks are set to in terms of ease of driving. But, for what it is, I find it surprisingly easy to drive. Thanks to its aero, bespoke Pirelli racing rubber, and long wheelbase, coupled with its zero give suspension and chassis, it's not as wild and twitchy as one might fear, and minor mishaps can feasibly be caught and corrected in the hands of an experienced racing driver. I'm very happy to report that, for all its seemingly impossible accolades and celebrity status, this car absolutely has adequate tools to contain itself. This is a car that, honestly, is as scary as you want it to be. If you're driving it sane and reasonable, it won't suddenly decide to bite your head off, chew it up, and spit it at a wall, even if it sounds like it can, will, and wants to.
The car is very well composed and controlled in just about every situation, except for corner exits out of the slower corners, when you have too much gear and not enough aero. This is where the "it's as scary as you want it to be" part comes in: you could downshift into 2nd, but do you really want to? Think about your wife. Think about your kids. Think about your career, your rep as a racing driver. Your sponsors, your fans, and everyone in your life that has gotten you to this very moment here, sitting in a Zonda R. Think about the fact that this is only 1 of 15 Rs in the world. Do you want to be "that guy" that wrecked a 1 in 15 car, costing someone billions of dollars? Are you willing to put all that at risk, just to accelerate out of this corner in 2nd instead of 3rd? Is that tenth of a second out of this one corner worth risking all that for? Because for all the praises I sing this car, for how laser focused with the state-of-the-art manufacturing and materials in it, for all the non road legal slick tyres and rock solid suspension, nothing we currently have can rein in 750PS in 2nd gear. The R is like a very patient god only barely tolerating your BS; take too many liberties with it, place too much faith in your own abilities, step out of line just a bit too much, and it will gladly kill you, no ifs, no buts, no hesitation. And, no. No you don't get to blame the car if you crash. With road cars, you can blame the suspension, you can blame the tyres. You can blame the aero, the chassis, the turbo... anything, because they're all compromised products. In this? Everything is sharp, precise, proportionate, and immediate. It does what you tell it to. There is no delay, there is no compromise, there is no excuse. You have all the information at all times. The car is always communicating. If you die in this, it's because you told the car to kill you when your judgment erred, or unseen road hazards. It's really that simple. And if the threat of death or permanent injury isn't enough to make you respect this car, then surely the shame of being "that guy" that crashed an R would, because you had no excuses.
And, you know what? It doesn't even have to care. It has no rules to follow. It doesn't have to cap its own power to fit into any category of racing cars, nor does it have to swallow ballast to appease its competition. It doesn't need any handicap to its own aero or dimensions to restrict its cornering speeds to be safe enough for the sponsors. It doesn't need to clear a speed bump, nor does it need to pass any emissions test. It's proudly insane, and you buy it because of its undiluted, unhindered, uncompromising lunacy.
As I've said before, this is a legitimate racing car. It might be more racecar than most race cars are racecars. In fact, this thing might be too racecar; it's suspension I find is set WAY too stiff, even for a paved racetrack. On my first flying lap of Nürb GP, the car hopped and I caught some air on the inside of the right hander of Schumacher S. It was a proper code brown moment, as for all my time I spent on that circuit, I've NEVER even felt a bump there. The rumble strip felt flush with the road. However, the R was set up so stiff that something bona fide racing cars plow right over sent the R hopping. I survived physically without a scratch, but mentally, every "small" moment like that is a scarring one. Yes, I'm man enough to admit it. I'm scared in the Zonda R. I'm terrified. Petrified.
This week on Paranormal Activity, we attempt to find out what caused this phenomenon of a lift on Schumacher S.
Despite the hop, my first flying lap with the R I'm told was a 1:57, already beating out the AMG GT3. Given that even invisible humps can hop the R, I avoided cutting the final chicane of Nürb GP as much as I would any other racing car. I eventually settled for a time of 1:55.343, more than three seconds faster than a derestricted GT3 car, which I was very surprised by, to be honest. Yes it has way more power. Yes its a bona fide racing car. But three whole seconds? With less corner cutting than the AMG? I wasn't even using the outside rumble strip of the last turn, because I didn't want to bottom out the car. The R I also felt lacked a lot of the finesse and willingness, a lot of the "chuckability" of the GT3 race car, no doubt because of its longer wheelbase, and also because of its not legally, but morally obligated hand holding understeer for stability. The R was also missing the last 10 or so percent more downforce and braking performance I personally want out of it. I'm sure the aero bits can be adjusted to make more downforce for a technical track like Nürb GP, but I felt it unnecessary as I think it's already made its point loud and clear: it's bloody fast and it has my respect. And because I didn't want to wash out any more stains from the interior of the car.
Gingerly lapping it round before going back into the pits, I actively avoided any dry leaves on the track and hoped this car doesn't trip over its own shadow, lest I set a new Guinness World Record for number of times a car flips. I was told over the radio to simply drive the car into the truck as it was to be sent to Spa later today. With the car properly lined up on the AMT truck, I stumbled out of the car with the grace and splendor of a drunk duck. I was drained physically, emotionally, and bowelly.
Given that neither of those cars came with license plates, we moseyed over to our next destination in a rental Mazda Demio. 2 hours away by car is the best racetrack in the world in my opinion, Spa. Given that I was on public roads with other drivers, and the fact that I had a passenger with me, I was nowhere near the limits of the Demio. It thoroughly impressed me nonetheless, because it felt super light even in city and highway driving, with perhaps a way overboosted power steering. I'm floored by the fact that this rental was even a manual, when most cars don't even come with manuals anymore, and I don't get to drive many diesels. I jokingly brought up the possibility of reviewing a Demio, but Esther very grimly and seriously warned me not to bring it up in the presence of the other COTW folk, because apparently the last person that suggested a Japanese FF car was tied to a stake and shot in the presence of their loved ones.
We had one day at Spa to test the cars, but as I've read online about the climate of the area, it is often marred by storms and fog. Such was the case came review day, and we waited and waited to see if conditions would improve. At around 1100, we gave up all hope of the possibility of a dry track, as the rain wasn't showing signs of letting up, and the track would take a long while to dry even the skies did stop pouring.
Pirelli had supplied us with deeply grooved Heavy Wet tyres for the Zonda R, for just such an occasion, and had even helpfully replicated the stock "Zonda R" stickers on the tyres. And while I was apprehensive, I also have to admit... I'm curious. Very, curious.
As usual, a warm up lap started the session, this time more necessary than the last, to get a feel for the track conditions, and how much grip these Heavy Wets would offer. As I crested over the final left kink of Raidillon Eau Rouge however, the car acted up, lost control of itself, and very, very nearly spat me into a wall. Thank FUCK I was going slowly when it happened!
I can't freaking believe this car! It actually lost itself over the rumble strips of Raidillon! I've raced the worst of cars in the worst of conditions at Spa, and I have NEVER had a car mind the rumble strips that much before!
On the next lap, I went over Raidillon, this time much, much slower, but still taking the same line. I made it past the rumble strips on the inside of the turn this time, but then promptly lost it on the paved part of the track, this time ending up much, much closer to the wall than the last time.
Editor's note #1: not the photo of the actual scene being described.
Driving the R in the wet is well and truly the most difficult feat of driving I've ever attempted. It took hours upon hours of failed runs before I could string together three incident free laps. I realise it's my job as a reviewer to describe the experience, but I find it so overwhelmingly stupid and dangerous, so complicated that words would never do it justice. I'm just going to sum it up with: "don't try it". The skills required to just keep it pointed in roughly the correct direction is too immense for me, let alone setting a fast time.
But it was a very eye opening and humbling experience. I think I'm a better person for having experienced it, and I realise how contradictory it sounds for me to not recommend anyone try it.
If I were theoretically given an opportunity to own a Zonda R, would I? Probably not, to be honest. Yes, it's a very, very beautiful thing. I respect the hell out of it. For me personally, it's hard to fall in love with, because it's just... too much, for my old man glands. It's hard to love someone or something when you fear and respect them too much. It offered the rawest, purest driving I ever had the privilege of experiencing, but it really is just too much for me. I know I usually harp on sports cars for not being raw and sporty enough. Well, this is me getting what I wished for. This here is my comeuppance. This here is my limit of what I can take.
Editor's note #2: not enough complaints for strong conclusion pls fix asap submit by 28th.
The wipers are pretty shit. This is the lowest it goes, and I can't see the road because of that.
Did anyone test drive this in the wet wow how can they sell something so dangerous it's disgusting. Can't believe they put rain lights on these things to mislead people into thinking it's driveable in the rain. -2/10 not for mortals' consumption.
Editor's note #3: Ted from Technical wants you to know you should've used traction control. Says you're an idiot.
Editor's note #4: My name isn't Esther.
