There are few greater joys in my life than the explosion and thunder from my Mustang V8's Roush exhaust. The pomp and circumstance of daily driving a shit hot car wages a war against the ubiquitous soul crushing commute. I like to think of it as tangible freedom.
We're a dying breed. It seems absurd that a gen Y'er would spend money on a fast car, let alone have the audacity to spit in a Prius lovers face at every passing opportunity. And that's not even the point.
The greatest driving experiences are a sensory overload. Our Viper induced crying and screaming on the I-95 onramp when I dared to question it's virility. Oh the noise… to borrow my favorite depiction of an exhaust note, that V10 sounded like an angry, drunken bear being shot from a cannon.
A stint in the F430 was life altering because it was beautiful and red and panty dropping. Most importantly, the sound. You could hear it a mile away and bask in the glory that is a V8 Ferrari.
But we're talking about daily drivers here.
The bark on startup from a gas ripping engine just sends a tingle straight to your James May fizzy gland. So why not get that sensation every day?
There's one day out of a hundred when you just want the car to shut up because you've got a headache or your girlfriend just sandbagged the shit out of you. Every other day is an adventure.
And don't worry about the neighbors. Most people will thank you for so selflessly sharing one of man's greatest achievements in the midst of automobile neuterization.
So do it. Make it loud.