In the Halloween spirit, here's a Porsche that daily haunts the parking garage at my gym.
My dad did some some custom artistic paint jobs when I was a kid -- Martian landscapes on the tailgate of an El Camino, that sort of the thing. But, you know, it was the fucking '70s so it was expected and accepted.
It's not the '70s anymore. So knock it off. We don't need German sports cars painted with all the taste and class of Chevy vans with carpeted dashboards and waterbeds in the back.
Seriously, who looks at a Porsche with a spoiler out of the back pages of J.C. Whitney and airbrushed anguished faces on the bumper burning in the pits of Hell and says, "You know what this really needs? A dragon!"
It hurts my heart, a little.
(Post title for non-SF geeks explained here.)