'87 Challenger

Shouting matches never end in laughter, they erupt with guffaw grenades, they find their zen in the patient puzzling of trash-talking oases. A beacon of furious eyebrow and Axe-brand scent, impeccably sloppy, put together like a green gem, his computer'll burn what his defamations haven't. Built, surely, of zirconium, his up-to-date silver-fox style leaves you wondering what purpose a man like this serves until his hands are in the air and his sighs of pleasure have you rethinking your own life.