Sorry. You weren’t born in time to see the cyborgs—not the cool ones at least, the ones that smoke and wear better clothes than you, and are really good at ping-pong, like, unbeatably freaking good. Here’s a tip: Never watch two cyborgs play ping-pong. The match will last all freaking night. And there you are, thinking you might get lucky with that smoking, hipster cyborg chick. But she’s got an axe to grind. She was all-state in ping cyber pong. She runs on some nuclear antimatter hybrid engine. You ate an organic Amy’s Bowl for dinner. It was only like 400 calories, but 150 calories were from fat. So who knows how much fuel’s in your tank tonight. A calorie’s a calorie, but fat is fat, too.
No, you were born a bit too early to witness this scene. Not even way too early—because pretty soon, we’ll unlock the secrets to aging and all live forever, and then you can wait around all freaking day for the cyborgs. Well, not you you. I mean the rhetorical you. You’re screwed. (The real you. The rhetorical you is just dandy.)
So what do you you get?
You get this Ford Atlas concept, the most masculinity a man or someone who really wants to feel like a man can almost buy (because it is just a concept). It doesn’t hover or whatever, so don’t even ask if it flies. But it will tow. It will drive through medium-sized puddles. And it will intelligently turn off the engine when you’re stuck in traffic (because no matter how masculine your truck is, it still answers to traffic), but it won’t turn off your engine when you’re towing (because that would be annoying to any sex).
A 360-degree camera sits on top the mantruck. It’ll give you a bird’s-eye panoramic view of everything, but if birds don’t sound very tough to you, that’s only because you’ve forgotten that eagles are technically birds. The Atlas also includes a pair of hidden, four-wheeler-ready cargo ramps and a power cradle that can hold items above the bed just to flaunt how strong it is—sound familiar? And there’s one of those "beep-beep" rear parking- assist systems. It’s not for actual use, though. It’s for punching deep within your dash, grabbing the heart of its computer logic and then biting it, still sparking, in front of some blind date. Meanwhile, you just back full-throttle into the Applebee’s and let physics take its course. Guess someone just got a free door.
The front lights, inner trim, and rear bed also glow blue. If you aren’t man enough to have heard of blue before, know it’s the third-most masculine color in the known universe, right behind black and silver. Blue is technically in a two-way tie for third with chrome, but since the Atlas is comprised in full by black, silver, blue, and chrome, it’s a moot point anyway. So don’t be a dick and call out chrome again, okay? Chrome can handle the implication of fourth place. Chrome knows himself and apparently everybody but you knows chrome.
Rumored specs include a hybrid engine that runs off a 50/50 mix of chew spittle and Five Hour Energy, a glove box that holds actual boxing gloves (bare knuckle is an optional upgrade), a driver’s side chilled seat that increases sperm count, and a rearview mirror that never needs an air-freshener tree because it already smells like Gillette "Cool Wave" after shave by day and the horn of a saddle by night.
So that’s all I’ve got for you—a truck that doesn’t quite exist to fill that hole in your heart left by a cyborg almost-girlfriend who most certainly won’t exist (for you you). But hopefully it’s enough. It has to be enough.