Porsche Panamera: "Designed For the American Market" Or Why We Got the Fat Elvis

Why is it that I always cringe when I see "Designed for the American market"?

The popularity of Porsche's 928 model during the mid-1980s prompted executives to have their engineers start working on a four-door sedan which, in 1990, became the 989 test mule. Primarily based on the 911 albeit with a newly designed 80-degree, water cooled V8 engine with a power output of around 300hp placed in the front. With Porsche's dismal financial situation in the early 90's the project was scrapped until 2007 when the higher-ups at Porsche considered it time to resurrect the executive salon.

Initial design sketches heralded a sleek and low-slung hatchback with wide hips and a slicked back roofline. Along came famed automotive illustrator, Radovan "Jerk-Wad" Varicak who gave us these stunning renderings (I've got more than a few beefs with the "Jerk-Wad" but that's for another article). An easy comparison to the thin & sexy, "Hips-Gyrating", Elvis Presley of the 1950's would be made. With panties being flung about, the engineers went to work, sending the auto world a buzzing and trouser fronts tenting.

With sickness bags at the ready on every seat, the Porsche Panamera production model was unveiled at the 13th Auto Shanghai, International Automobile Show on April 2009. Jaws dropped. The horrified silence was shattered by gasps, overlapping retching sounds and babies screaming. Several viewers fainted into the pools of vomit that covered the exhibition hall and were trampled to death by those scrambling to escape.

Presented in what Porsche called "Burnt Mocha Beet" exterior paint with "Muskrat Mustard" interior suede. It was as if a rolling version of a late 1970's Elvis velvet painting had ensconced the room. I'm talking about Elvis just before his death. With all his blubber, oversized lapels and bedazzled jumpsuits that barely contained the jelly donuts that he had just shot up between his engorged toes. Equally grotesque and mesmerizing, the crowd was rightfully flabbergasted, nauseated and stupefied.

For much like the late "King of Rock & Roll," this new Panamera was undeniably the king of executive salons. Sure there were offerings from AMG, BMW and Maserati but none could match the shear performance numbers of the Panamera.

The most popular of the series was the all-wheel-drive Panamera 4S. It slotted between the rear-wheel-drive Panamera 2S, which was powered by the same all-aluminum 32-valve DOHC 4.8-liter V8 as the 4S, and the almighty Turbo with its 500-hp version of this V8 ... blah, blah, blah. Yes it was rad! Skid pad numbers that would loosen fillings, relocate spleens, yada yada ... Got it.

Thing is, Elvis would never been a hit if he started out as a 70's Las Vegas lounge act. He started out lean and mean and OMG, those hips! Granted this is the 21st Century, USA and our obesity rate has deemed plus-sized shopping a norm rather than a specialty. Where being fit or healthily can be misconstrued as sickly and malnourished. The manufactures of everything, really, have taken it upon themselves to make the new roly-poly rotund class feel good about themselves and their gluttony. Yea, made for America!

Don't get me wrong, both the 1970's Elvis and the first generation Panamera were cool and awesome but it comes down to these three questions:

Do you want to look at them? "...no, not really, no. They're just hideous."

Do you want to hang out with them? "...possibly, yes, of course, could definitely be some fun there."

Do you want to sleep with them? "... A Resounding, Hell No! Are you outta your fucking mind?!? NO! Jesus, Fuck! ... why would you even ask me that? God!"

There it is. I know that the second generation is better, no doubt, and there's a shooting-brake version which I would probably sleep with after a few (12) Dark & Stormies but come to regret in the morning.

I want the young Elvis version. A car that's so fucking hot I wouldn't care about what the neighbors thought as I unscrewed its gas cap and mounted its hind quarters and pounded the hell out of it like the dirty beast it was. Hips gyrating for all the world to see.

So thanks, Radovan "Jerk-Wad" Varicak. Thanks for getting my hopes up (yet again) by presenting "Sex on Wheels" whilst forgetting about the fucking all important American market ... jerk. I'll deal with you yet.

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