Can't I simply tear the roof off the car by ducking and driving it under something low enough to do the job, then throw your crotch rocket into the backseat, then drive us both in the same expertly reckless manner that I did before? You know, the sort that involved swans and small scenic lakes. And wet clingy dresses.
...you simply want to torture me more by making me ride on it, so that I look paler than usual and bloody ridiculous. Don't you.