I am the not-so-proud owner of the world's ugliest car. Squat, flattened, a misshapen pancake of a car. Hideous beyond compare, it wasn't even baptized with a real car name. It's a Dodge 600.
No designers or engineers in their right or left mind would stand up and take credit for this vehicle. It can only be described as a pimpmobile for old ladies.
"You don't want to be driving that thing," my mechanic-buddy said, shaking his head. "It's not that it's mechanically unsound, it's just that it's hard to look at. I can't see you in it."
Well, yes, he can.
The color? Burgundy gone bilious. The peeling rooftop brings to mind the words "leprosy" and "contagious." You didn't think that I would have bought this new, did you?
Any advantage to owning this eyesore? Well, yes, come to think of it. No one will steal this vehicle, not even to do a drive-by shooting. Too recognizable. Too embarrassing.
As a matter of fact, I'm constantly worried that I'll be ticketed for sharing the road with decent vehicles.
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