If you want to sell a lot of real estate, you need a car that says “a lot of real estate” inside and out. A car that says everything about me smells of Hai Karate, gold chains, coke and buxom hookers (and that’s just for breakfast). Or in Bob’s case, an exotic Russian trophy wife and a riverfront Detroit penthouse.
Mr. Big in Phoenix
Another Thursday, another Cadillac, although (evidently) there is a body or 10 in the trunk.
Coupe de Ville, from the French word for bloated tank of lard. This is the pinnacle of American luxury in the day. Why?
- 472 cubic inch V-8 – bigger than your puny Impala’s 350
- 22 ft long – again, bigger than your puny impala.
- Power windows, locks, a/c, long before they were common on kias
- Leather, from actual creatures
- An arm rest in the back seat. That is the real kicker. It’s how my grandparents knew they were in a real luxury car. Not the other shit – the rear arm rest.