“Raptor, be pure. Take a tour, through the sewer. Don’t strain your brain, paint a train. You’ll be singin’ in the rain.”

This was a song in the eighties, man. OK, Blondie was actually saying Rapture, not Raptor, but the lyrics may be apt. If you had the desire, you probably could take a tour through the sewer in this luxury tankette, which incidentally in terms of styling has this whole Tonka ethos goin’ on. It is clearly constructed to satisfy your Apocalypto/Mad Max (both involving Mel Gibson, oddly enough) fantasies. Or, if you’re into Romancing the Stone-type heroics, the Little Mule is now available at your Ford dealer iffen you have the dinero. Stoutly suspended, armed with a locking rear differential (but the 4WD is part-time only) and graced with huge rubber, this thing should be fairly hard to break. We shall see. I will task it as it is my job (but gently and responsibly, of course) and see if it is the true stock prerunner that the Border Patrol is interested in. I shall not strain my brain, nor will I paint a train, but it is raining, so. . .

The Chrysler 300C is still an odd beast. It handles really well, is roomy yet claustrophobic, and has this whole wild baby Bentley styling thing going on. That said, the high beltline looks like something really heavy sat on the roof. It’s the antithesis of the old Chrysler Newport of my youth that had a veritable greenhouse on it, and an equally spunky V8. The 300 w/the Navigation system still has the worst radio interface on the planet. I thought they would have fixed this by now but nooooo. . .