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Pussy Magnet, Defined

I'm loathe to admit that I like fast cars (because it's shallow and shouldn't we all be taking the subway and global warming is bad, etc.)  but, well, I do.  There are few things hotter than a guy driving stick shift in a tiny, impractical vehicle that doesn't do particularly well with potholes or child-seats or, you know, luggage.

So when my date last night picked me up in a Lotus Elise, I tried to act as if it were your average Ford Taurus (after all, it does have a 2ZZ-GE Toyota engine).  That lasted fifty-three seconds.  Then I squealed uncontrollably and begged him to let me take photos sitting on it.  Yes, yes, I know, I have no shame, etc, and here are the results:

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