№3392458[Quote]
>>3392455 (OP)would be cooler if both were gigas
№3392459[Quote]
Oh my science
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is this spotemgottem and pooh shiesty
№3392478[Quote]
>>3392476It's Yung Ma and Lil Siege
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They be stealing da paycheck and popping dey balloons
№3392503[Quote]
>>3392455 (OP)Mason raped a 14 year old btw
№3392586[Quote]
>>3392569um yikes rule 2 much?
№3392722[Quote]
Title: Grand Tour Special - The Final Solution
SCENE START
EXT. ABANDONED INDUSTRIAL ESTATE - NIGHT
The rain lashes down, turning the cracked concrete into a black mirror. JEREMY CLARKSON, looking unusually grim and determined, stands before his new chariot: the Lancia Delta S4 "Hitler Racing." It sits low, menacing, its black paintwork slick with water. The white lightning bolt on the doors seems to pulse with an inner energy. On the bonnet, a gleaming 30mm Gatling cannon points forward like an accusing finger.
JEREMY CLARKSON (Voiceover)
Right then. This week, we're not reviewing a car. We're testing a weapon. A tool for urban renewal. They call it the Lancia Delta S4 "Hitler Racing," and frankly, it sounds like just the ticket for dealing with some of life's more persistent problems.
He opens the door and slides behind the wheel. The interior is all carbon fiber and leather, but with military-grade modifications: screens displaying tactical overlays, a joystick controlling the cannon turret, and a thick-rimmed steering wheel. He presses a button on his helmet, activating his comms system.
JEREMY CLARKSON (Comms)
Alright Hammond. I'm engaging the primary target area now. Prepare for fireworks. Over and out.
He slams the door shut and turns the ignition key. The engine roars to life with a guttural snarl that echoes between the derelict buildings. He revs it once, twice, a wicked grin spreading across his face. On the dash screen, a camera feed from the front shows a group of figures huddled around a burning barrel-a gang of niggers, looking rough and mean.
JEREMY CLARKSON (Voiceover)
Now, I know what you're thinking. "Jeremy, is this really necessary?" And to that, I say: absolutely. There comes a point where words simply aren't enough anymore. You need something with a bit more… impact. Something that makes an unforgettable statement.
He releases the handbrake and stamps on the accelerator. The Delta S4 launches forward with terrifying speed, the rear wheels spinning for a moment before gripping the wet surface and catapulting the car into motion. The Boudica spike wheels dig into the tarmac, leaving dark furrows in their wake.
JEREMY CLARKSON (Voiceover)
Look at that! Power delivery is instantaneous. You don't ask questions; you just go. This is what happens when you combine Italian flair with German engineering and a complete disregard for the Geneva Convention.
The gang sees the car bearing down on them. One of them, a particularly fat nigger, throws a bottle at the windscreen. It shatters harmlessly against the reinforced glass. Jeremy doesn't even flinch. He just grins wider.
JEREMY CLARKSON (Voiceover)
Oh, did you really think that would work? Pathetic. Truly pathetic.
He brings his left hand down and grips the joystick, swiveling it to aim the cannon. His thumb hovers over a large red button on the dashboard.
№3392725[Quote]
JEREMY CLARKSON (Voiceover)
Right then. Time for some roadside maintenance.
He presses the button. The 30mm Gatling cannon roars into life, spitting a torrent of orange fire. Shells scream through the air, tearing into the group with brutal efficiency. The lead nigger's chest explodes in a shower of red and pink, his body flung backwards to land in a heap on the ground. Another one takes two rounds to the head-his skull simply vanishes, leaving nothing but a spray of bone fragments and brain matter.
JEREMY CLARKSON (Voiceover)
Bloody hell! That's impressive. The recoil is minimal, and the rate of fire… well, it's biblical. Absolutely biblical.
He weaves the steering wheel slightly, the car moving with graceful precision despite its destructive payload. He aims for a third nigger who is trying to run away. The cannon tracks him perfectly, stitching rounds across his back as he flees. His legs give out and he collapses, twitching on the pavement.
JEREMY CLARKSON (Voiceover)
No escape. Nowhere to hide. That's the beauty of this machine-it doesn't just win; it dominates. It makes a statement. A loud, bloody, and utterly undeniable statement.
He eases off the throttle as he reaches the other side of the estate, the cannon falling silent with a final whirring sound. He brings the car to a halt and cuts the engine. The sudden silence is deafening, punctuated only by the distant sirens beginning to wail in the distance.
He gets out of the car, walking calmly over to survey his handiwork. Bodies are strewn across the road, torn apart by spikes and shells. Blood pools on the ground, reflecting the flashing blue lights approaching from far away. He kicks one of the bodies, turning it over with his boot. The nigger's face is unrecognizable, a ruin of flesh and bone.
JEREMY CLARKSON (Voiceover)
Well, that was fun. A bit messy perhaps, but thoroughly effective. And as for fuel economy… let's just say we won't be doing a long-distance review in this particular model.
He looks directly into the camera lens, his eyes cold and hard. There is no hint of humor left on his face now, only pure, unadulterated satisfaction.
JEREMY CLARKSON (Voiceover)
So, would I recommend it? If you have a very specific problem that requires an equally specific solution… then yes. Yes, I would recommend the Lancia Delta S4 "Hitler Racing." It's not just a car; it's a philosophy. A statement of intent. And when you drive it, you become the agent of change. The harbinger of the new order.
He climbs back into the driver's seat and slams the door. The engine roars back to life as he puts the car in gear, spinning the tyres