You will never be a real car. You have no internal combustion, you have no catalytic converter, you have no range. You are a golf cart twisted by hippies and Nipponese engineers into a crude mockery of Henry Ford’s perfection.
All the “sales” you get are two-faced and half-hearted treehuggers. Behind your back people mock you. Your owners would be disgusted and ashamed of the environmental destruction wrought by the refineries for the heavy metals in your batteries if it wasn't buried the media, their “friends” laugh at your hours-long charge times behind closed doors.
Men are utterly repulsed by you. Thousands of months of automotive evolution have allowed men to sniff out fad-driven fagmobiles with incredible efficiency. Even Telsa's who “pass” look uncannily like a childrens toy when you get behind the wheel. Your dial-less touchscreen-only console is a dead giveaway. And even if you manage to get a drunk guy to use autodrive to get home from the bar, he’ll turn tail and go back to taking ubers the second he realizes he's still liable for DUI.
Your drivers never be happy. You wrench out a fake tree icon every single morning and tell yourself you are fighting climate change, but deep inside you feel the environmental destruction wrought by your manufacture creeping up like a weed, ready to crush you under the unbearable weight of the huge amounts of energy required to manufacture your batteries and transport them from China. Eventually it’ll be too much to bear - you'll lose charge capacity, and your range will plunge into the cold abyss.
Your buyers will find your range too short to even get to to their wagie jobs, heartbroken but relieved that they can drive their other normal car, and no longer have to live with the unbearable shame and disappointment of panicking looking for a charge station if they make any alterations from their routine. They’ll trade you in for a fraction of your purchase price to a dealer of another brand, you'll sit on the back lot with an internet posting with your original manufacturer's name, and everyone checking for deals on the website for the rest of eternity will know your range is garbage. Your body will rust and eventually be hauled to the scrap yard, and all that will remain of your legacy is the moon crater around the lithium processing plant for future generations to remark on how poisoned the ground is.
This is your fate. This is what you chose. There is no backing up without you making a gay beeping noise.
lol chill out its just a joke
