Toyota
Previa: you think you know, but you have no idea
By Kevin
Squyres
Magis staff writer
“Now,
I owe it to myself to tell you, Mr. Griswold, that if you
are thinking of taking the tribe ’cross country, this
is your automobile. The Wagon Queen Family Truckster. You
think you hate it now, but wait till you drive it.”
Yes, Mr. Clark Griswold (Chevy Chase’s character in
National Lampoon‘s Vacation), do give it a try. I think
you’ll love it. The features include 29 cup-holders,
32 armrests, 5 sliding doors, 15 TV screens, “Stow’n’Go”
seating, and the standard deficit in driving skills. Not only
will you single-handedly take on the highways and byways of
our grand country, but you’ll also be equipped with
enough van to sink a submarine.
I’d like to take this moment to explain that I hate
minivans, despise them and all the evil they epitomize. Also,
I am not a patient person. Put the two together and you get,
well, not really 'Road Rage', but at the very least, 'Road
Indignation.' And I like to be indignant. I consider it to
be a vastly underrated emotion.
You, my peers and public, do not, however, feel the same way.
This is made apparent by the conglomeration of minivans on
campus, namely the Toyota Previa which was manufactured from
1991to 1997.
Perhaps this marvel results from the ignorance of the Strake
Jesuit contingency to the fact that the minivan received a
“P for Poor” crash test rating from the Institute
of Highway Safety, or perhaps our Previa owners are being
subjected to some other unearthly torture. Whatever the case,
the word must get out: He who drives a Previa is the fool
who hath doomed himself to eternal pity!
If you’re looking for the one vehicle that can impede
your progress in the hierarchy of “coolness,”
you’ll find it in the Toyota Previa.
What does the consumer look for in a car? In high school,
the majority of cars we drive are either bought by or passed
down from our parents. Parents want nothing but good for their
children and thus look mainly for safety. As much as I’d
liked to tell you that you and those 11 nine-year-olds behind
you are safe, the results show that the overall safety is
poor, namely in the lower body area for front seat passengers.
Other than that, the engine is mounted diagonally under the
dashboard, so if the impact is hard enough not only is your
car totaled, but it is also possible to sustain injuries ranging
from burns to certain fatality.
Now that the minor disadvantages are out of the way, there
are some serious issues with which we must deal. First and
foremost, if you are looking for a “Mirth Mobile”
in which to have grand times or searching for a car to rival
the Nissan Skyline on the underground racing circuit, keep
on walking past the proverbial showcase that is the Toyota
Previa. Though the name screams “Babe Magnet,”
you’ll find no supernatural gathering of women around
your egg-shaped ride. As for the NOS tanks you bought from
Pep Boys, you can go ahead and sell those on eBay because
they shall provide you no finish line glory, other than people
praising you for having the chutzpah to give up the pink slips
to your car.
The second major downfall is the image that driving a minivan
entails. Women in minivans epitomize the “soccer mom”
demographic, a group characterized by talking on the cell
phone, feeding the baby, quieting the kids, trying to figure
out which cup-holder to use, and “driving” all
at the same time. They are the Queens of Multitasking.
However, when testosterone prevails, the Toyota becomes a
weapon, a deadly force capable of breaking the sound barrier
in the HOV lane. Men become maniacal drivers. No one knows
for certain why this phenomenon takes place but some scientific
studies show that when testosterone comes in contact with
freon made especially for minivans, chaos ensues.
The solution? I suggest a full on “War on Minivans”
wherein we shall hand out pamphlets, make speeches broadcasted
on every major news network, run political cartoons in all
the major syndicates, and even spread the occasional rumor.
Spread the word however you can. Be it through song, writing,
or even an interpretive dance, do all that you can for your
brothers here at Strake because when you realize that his
“Son is an Honor Student,” there’s something
seriously wrong there.
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