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But this behavior is not acceptable in car culture. As soon as you make a decision -- and I mean the very second you put that money down and settle into the seat -- you have committed yourself to a long and brutal bloodfeud with every single other brand in existence.

"Oh, you're a MOPAR man," the man behind the counter at the auto parts store will say, after noticing your car.

"Yeah! They're awesome!" You'll spout eagerly. And then, before you can add "but I almost bought a beautiful Cutlass before this, and I saw a bitchin' Galaxie just earlier today," he'll lean over conspiratorially and whisper: "I've got a Coronet myself."

You'll smile and nod, wondering if it's rude to ask him if that's a car, a bird or a Mexican beer, and then another customer will walk by. The clerk will abruptly raise a hand to quiet you as he passes.

"That was a Chevy man," he'll clarify with unfathomable bile in his tone, and spit on the floor before continuing, "keeps coming in here, all la-di-da like he owns the world. Just been waitin' for another MOPAR man to come along and back me up ..."

Then he'll stand up suddenly, walk to the door, flip the sign to closed, and BAM! You're helping yet another stranger throw a "rug" into Mattigan's swamp, just as soon as you drink up enough courage to remove those incriminating fingertips with a pair of boltcutters.