Car WTFs

A Funny Thing Happened On The Way To The Aventador: An Appreciation

Car WTFs

Tyler is a writer and pastor's kid who infrequently writes about being a pastor's kid. A full-time automotive journalist, Tyler buoys himself with car facts that might kill a more reasonable person.

During the buildup to this, the most super of all the bowls in all the land, even the most sportsball-averse citizens among us are pretty helpless to avoid the sort of soggy thinkpieces and misplaced sanctimoniousness that can singlehandedly keep the entire Clydesdale-breeding industry in the black. Have a look here at Russell Wilson, who overcame his chronic itty-bittiness and a wife-fucking teammate (Allegedly!!) to lead his team to the game’s grandest stage! And over there, Patriots quarterback and erstwhile UGG model Tom Brady is enjoying another quiet moment with his Peyton Manning voodoo doll! 

But then there’s Marshawn Lynch, a Skittle-powered, gold-grilled wrecking ball of a running back for whom phrases such as “That’s just (person’s name) being (the same person’s name)” were created, and who famously prefers to let his game (and an occasional hoodie) speak for him. His teammates and fans love him, while a bellicose media competes for Lebowski-esque morsels such as,  “I’m just about that action, boss…. Ain’t never seen no talkin’ win me nothing.” That is, you see, just Marshawn being Marshawn.

And what could a man who just gets so overjoyed with each touchdown that he grabs his dick and balls in the direction of the vanquished possibly add to an automotive website? Well, there’s this:

Last summer, Marshawn and some “associates” were in Oakland for a “film shoot,” when he parked his Lamborghini Aventador on a city street and apparently retrieved a pair of velvet ropes from…wait, where the hell did they come from? From the passenger seat? From the bodega in the background that looks like a place where illegal immigrants and live chickens live in perfect harmony?

As with all things Marshawn, we don’t sweat the “whats” and the “whys” and the “are-you-highs.” This sort of hole-poking would be uncivil. What we do instead is this: we take pleasure in the knowledge that somewhere out there lives a man, and that this man makes a lot of money. Like, enough money to buy a $400,000 Lamborghini Aventador. But where most reasonable people would only rarely pull it out of the garage and oh helllllll no I’m not parking it on the street in Oakland bitch you crazy?, this rarest of peculiar gemstones has the brass-balled wherewithal to say, “Fuck it, I’ll just get myself some velvet ropes and park it wherever the fuck I please.”

That’s just Marshawn being Marshawn, and it’s a wonder that anyone ever aspires to be anything else.

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