I suppose when you have a Maserati you can do whatever you please to it. Like cover it in gold and suede as if it’s a purse that belongs to a loud-mouthed Italian broad in New Jersey.
About the only type of chicks I can get into my truck on a Friday night too.
I guess when rednecks get older those hang a little lower.
They say a vehicle had character. Unfortunately sometimes that character is a piece of shit.