Toyota is the master of the pastiche. The company's designers never met a Mercedes they couldn't morph, or a Bangled BMW they couldn't bootleg. Granted, capturing the essence of a rival's design without ending up on a hard bench outside the World Intellectual Property Organization is something of an art form. But quite what Toyota had in mind with the FJ Cruiser is hard to fathom. In one sense, they're finally getting 'round to ripping themselves off: riffing on the FJ40 Land Cruiser's riff on the original Jeep. On the other hand, anyone who clocks the FJ Cruiser's brick-like bearing and doesn't think Hummer just isn't trying hard enough– which ain't something you can say about Toyota. Ever.

From the front, the FJ Cruiser is a Lego Transformer. Funky chunky bumpers– complete with molded silver "wings"– combine with a cylindrical light assembly, swooping sides and a gun slit front window to create a mondo-bizarre snap-to-fit aesthetic. The FJ's hood– which looks like a half-submerged bomber hangar– doesn't quite work. But it's Henry Moore to the side profile's Dali-esque dissonance. The FJ's rear windows makes the SUV look like it's sagging in the middle, while the gigantic C-pillars are almost as funny (both humorous and peculiar) as the mini-flares over the rear arches. And the FJ's back end makes the full-size spare hanging on the door look like a child's inflatable pool.

You've got to wonder about the mood at RenCen these days. Watching the price of gas crest $3 a gallon must make GM CEO Rabid Rick Wagoner feel like the Captain of the Poseidon as he trains his binoculars on the dark horizon and spies a mountain of water heading his way. It's not just the horror of knowing what's coming that makes the moment so terrifying; it's the crew's utter powerlessness to alter events. Only the Poseidon just happened to be in the wrong place at the wrong time. Wagoner and his mates have spent their entire time on the bridge steering GM into harm's way. And there's not a damn thing Rabid Rick can do about the gathering tsunami. To review…

For more than a decade, the Tahoe, Suburban, Yukon, Yukon Denali and Escalade have been the cash cows keeping The General in cream. As readers of this series know, when the winds of change gathered force, Rabid Rick called out "Steady as she goes!" Instead of developing new hybrids to capitalize on the growing anti-SUV gestalt, instead of spending money on refining and marketing the fuel efficient vehicles already in GM's vast fleet, Rick bet the company on a quick refresh of GM's gas-guzzlers. Last September, Maximum Bob Lutz launched the resulting GMT900-based Chevrolet Tahoe– between the two hurricanes that decimated America's gasoline production facilities. GM's "new" vehicles were born under a bad sign: $3 a gallon gas.

The ancient Greeks knew the truth: character is fate. If Oedipus hadn't been such an asshole he wouldn't have killed his father, married his mother and kept psychiatrists busy for centuries. By the same token, if Rick Wagoner wasn't a corporate narcissist, he would've completed the Herculean tasks left by his predecessors. GM's CEO would have cleansed The General's stable of excremental vehicles, severed its eight-headed brand portfolio, subdued the UAW's cretinous bulls and sent Cerberus packing. Instead, we get to watch Rabid Rick's company sink into the mire, bribing a financial journalist and engineering a sports car whose roof flies off at 60mph. To wit:

Robert B. Reich is a journalist and commentator who once worked for President Clinton in the Labor Department. He currently enjoys a regular slot on NPR's nationally-syndicated "Marketplace" program. On Wednesday, Reich announced that he'd been approached by a "public relations firm working for General Motors." Reich said the flack asked him to praise GM's buyback deal for its workers. He then offered to pay Reich "remuneration" for a positive story "out of respect" for his reputation. Reich declined the unspecified offer.

The new Cadillac Escalade is a mission critical machine. It's one of the few remaining General Motors products whose sales don't depend on Mexican-sized kickbacks and/or a Day-Glo "Closing Down, Everything Must Go" sticker on the windshield. What's more, as a badge-engineered Chevrolet Tahoe, it's only slightly more expensive to build than a Chevrolet Tahoe. In other words, the 'Slade's is a cash cow on factory double dubs, trying to keep it real for GM's ten point six billion dollar man, Rabid Rick Wagoner; know what I mean? No? Let me spell it out for you: if the 'Slade ain't da bomb, it's a nail in the General's coffin. Well guess what? RIP.

Clock those side vents. At the precise moment when Caddy's luxury SUV should swagger into town with unabashed American style, the 'Slade arrives with its main design cue "borrowed" from Land Rover's Range Rover Sport. While the cynical amongst you might assert that the Escalade's target market is no more likely to connect the two vehicles than smoke crack and drive (as if), the fact remains: the porthole plagiarism betrays a staggering lack of confidence and originality. Of course, badge engineering a Chevrolet Tahoe betrays a staggering lack of confidence and originality, but, um… where was I? Something about the enormous gap in the SUV's wheel arches making the 'Slade look like a punk ass bitch? No… that wasn't it. Or was it?

I once complained to my accountant about sky-high UK petrol taxes. An oil-producing nation with the highest gas prices in the world? What's that all about? He laughed. "Bitching about the petrol tax is like complaining about a mosquito bite when your carotid artery's been severed." This Sunday, The Detroit News ran a story about GM's $17m Viagra bill. Reporter Brett Clanton justified the titillating take on GM's health care provisions by claiming "company executives" use the factoid to illustrate runaway costs. Be that as it may, Clanton's story is nothing but an inane distraction from GM's death by a thousand cuts, both literal and figurative. Or is it?

The Detroit News seems to have missed the fact that GM workers go to their doctor, get scrips for Viagra, then re-sell the erectile dysfunction medication on the street. Insiders tell us that a large part of GM's $17m Viagra bill ended-up in UAW workers' pockets. In fact, the Viagra story could very well be the tip of a huge drug re-selling scandal (Vicodin, Oxycontin, etc.). And again, that's without considering the REAL story: all the tens of millions of dollars spent on unnecessary tests and procedures– blithely commissioned by doctors and patients who have no incentive to minimize GM's health care bill.

At yesterday's New York International Automobile Show, Bob Lutz provided the hook for GM's PR counterattack. Of course, the Car Czar's rallying cry wasn't planned. As usual, the former Marine aviator simply greeted the press, opened his mouth and OoRah! came out. 'GM has the worst behind it.' Whatever else you can say about Maximum Bob Lutz, the man is an idiot. While GM's first quarter results will be a lot less bad than last year's annus horribilis, Lutz' statement flies in the face of the growing, looming, unresolved, irresolvable conflict over at bankrupt parts supplier Delphi; the fact that GM's gas-guzzling SUV's are heading straight into a $3 a gallon shit storm; and a shoal of dangers so extensive that GM CEO Rick Wagoner has taken to calling it "stuff." But wait; there's more!

"Soon all will be revealed,' Lutz said. 'I can't mention figures, because I'd get in big trouble." So, Mr. 'Don't Tell Mommy' wants the nattering nabobs of negativity vulturing GM to believe that his company's management team (whom MB has just placed in harm's way) has a secret plan to pump-out GM's umpteen flooded compartments and restore the company to preeminence. Well, profit. Never mind that GM watchers have been waiting for an aggressive restructuring plan since 1973, or that every time Rabid Rick Wagoner steps up to the dais these days and says "Ta Da!" he's closing, cutting and/or buying out something or someone. If we're looking for company-saving revelations, what could possibly top the still only potential sale of 51% of GMAC for $14.1b? The mind boggles.

I'll never forget the billboard looming over London's Hammersmith flyover. At the exact point where drivers suddenly confront the endless congestion ahead, a teleconferencing company asked 'Is this journey really necessary?' I'd like to put the same question to the harried hacks covering The New York International Automobile Show– at the exact moment they hear the stilted cadences of The VP of Marketing for Generic Sedans enter the twenty-third minute of his presentation. And what say you show goers, as those circulation-constricting swag bags help transform your "visit" into a Bataan Death March? Is your Odyssean journey really essential?

I wonder what Billy Durant would have made of Rick Wagoner. GM's founder was a man of great honesty, intelligence and drive. He was also a high school drop out who started the company with a $1000 loan– and ended-up penniless. Twice. Perhaps that's why historians tend to credit General Motors' epic growth to the man appointed president in 1923; about whom an observer wrote, 'The manufacture of correct assessments, not physical products, is what most gratified Alfred Sloan.' Billy was the "car guy." Alfred was the "bean counter." The history of GM is the history of the struggle between these two opposing forces: passion and, um, accounting. Rick Wagoner is, of course, a Harvard MBA.

I suppose Durant would have liked Wagoner well enough, at least at first. Durant's legendary charm was based on a simple but effective strategy: "Assume that the man you are talking to knows more than you. Do not talk too much. Give the customer time to think. In other words, let the customer sell himself." Rabid Rick is pretty good at selling himself these days. With a new PR guy pushing the buttons, Wagoner's making the rounds, defending his chairmanship on CBS' 60 Minutes and Face the Nation, and in the pages of The Wall Street Journal and other carefully-selected publications. So if Rick and Billy were schmoozing about GM, Wagoner would have done the talking.

I don't know about you, but I've been feeling sorry for Volkswagen for a while now. VW didn't so much lose their mojo as strap it to the nose of a Titan IVB and fire it into deep space. No disrespect to the world's fifth most populous country, but was anyone really surprised when a Brazilian Golf turned out like German bobo de camarao? Now that Vee Dub's got THAT out of their system, here comes the new, Wolfsburg-built Golf GTI. It's an Old School hot hatch with a Masters in Engineering. Viva VW!

For reasons best left to The International Museum of Marketing Doublespeak, Volkswagen decided to begin their mission-critical US Golf refresh with a two-door. More's the pity. The fifth-gen four-door is a far more handsome beast than the coupe– if only because the Golf's rear portals soften the enormous disparity between the front windscreen's bottom edge and the side windows' lower boundary. This bizarre asymmetry pisses on the Golf's 32-year history of two-box harmony. The resulting rear end trades brand recognition for something vaguely Japanese– as if the Golf suddenly decided to play the Accordian. And then there's the front end's unresolved echo of Audi's unconscionable house snout…

Chasing Robert Berry's Enzo up Equinox Mountain in a Lamborghini Murcielago, I remember thinking there's no way I'm going to keep up with this guy. As the Ferrari's exhaust note ripped through the Murcie's windscreen like a shotgun blast through fiberboard, I set my priorities: no dying, no crashing, no humiliation. The big bull proved equal to the task. Every time I over-cooked it, the Murcie's front tires juddered and… we're back! Every time Berry slowed for a turn, the V12 supercar closed the gap. The experience gave me a profound respect for Lamborghini. And then I drove a Gallardo.

As reported here, the Gallardo is as cohesive as a first grader's art collage. While the four-wheel drive supercar cuts corners like a bankrupt builder, the Gallardo's over-wrought sheetmetal, humdrum cabin, relatively feeble brakes, lack of low-end grunt, questionable high-speed stability and point and clunk paddle shift gearbox wouldn't pass muster in an entry level Porsche or, for that matter, a garden variety Audi. Well exactly. Audi has owned Lamborghini since 1988. The Gallardo (né '03) should have married German precision and Italian passion. Instead, it joined German flair with Italian fastidiousness.

At 9:30am this morning, a group of lawyers representing bankrupt auto parts supplier Delphi will appear in front of Federal Bankruptcy Judge Robert Drain. The lawyers will file legal motions for Sections 1113 and 1114. It's a legal request to void Delphi's current collective bargaining agreements with the United Auto Workers (UAW). The moment the judge says the word "granted," he will terminate the wage structure, post-retirement health care and life insurance plans for the company's 33k US hourly workers. The UAW will respond with a strike against Delphi. Starved of its former subsidiary's parts, GM's assembly lines will fall silent. The General will begin its final slide into Chapter 11.

There will be a gap between Delphi's filing, the judge's final ruling (May 9th) and industrial action. During this highly fraught interregnum, Delphi President Steve 'Quotation Marks' Miller may make a fourth wage and benefits offer to the UAW. The proposal would fall somewhere between the workers' current compensation ($27 per hour) and Miller's last last stand ($16.50 per hour). As we've said before, the UAW will accept nothing less than the status quo, and that's somewhere where Miller won't go– at least not without GM footing the bill. Common sense says if GM CEO Rick Wagoner was going to ride to Delphi's rescue, he would have done so already. Chances are he can't.

Testing a Gallardo SE in Miami is like sipping Chateau Lafite Rothschild in a public urinal. The little Lambo was born to annihilate the twisting mountain roads surrounding Italy's supercar valley, or flirt with V3 on a derestricted German autobahn. Miami's geometric streets and traffic-choked highways offer the Gallardo driver nothing more than a sinuous onramp and an occasional half-mile sprint– which is plenty damn exciting but about as satisfying as red wine slammers. So, whilst fending-off a frantic flackmeister preoccupied with the definition of the words "driving impression," I guided the baby bull towards the nearest race track.

As I quick-quick-slowed through the cars clogging I-95 North, I was taken aback by the lack of stare and attention given the Gallardo. With its strange combination of diminutive footprint, cab forward stance, drop snout, near horizontal windshield and unrelenting angularity, the Gallardo lacks what native S-Class owners call "uberholprestige": that indefinable yet unmistakable car-isma that convinces fellow road users to move the Hell over. Either that or Floridians are fed-up with the automotive tastes of Bolivian drug lords. In any case, we now know what happens when a Belgian designs a supercar for a legendary Italian nameplate under the wary eye of a German conglomerate; and it ain't what I'd call pretty.

As predicted, the American Family Association (AFA) has renewed its boycott of the Ford Motor Company. The move comes after The Blue Oval reneged on a private pledge to the AFA to stop advertising in gay and lesbian media, and end direct financial support to gay and lesbian events and organizations. When the story broke back in December, Ford denied the AFA deal. They claimed the decision to pull Jag and Land Rover ads from gay-oriented publications was "strictly business." When that didn't fly with the gay, bisexual, lesbian and transgender (GBLT) community, Ford reversed itself and kept the cash flowing. Thus the AFA's retaliation for their alleged betrayal. Now what?

This time 'round, Ford has taken a sensible line on the AFA's boycott: ignore it and hope it goes away. Yesterday, Blue Oval Spinmeister Kathleen Vokes issued a written statement more generic than store brand soap. 'Ford is proud of its tradition of treating all with respect, and we remain focused on what we do best — building and selling the most innovative cars and trucks.' Ignoring Henry Ford's vicious anti-Semitism and the brand's spurious claim to technological supremacy, the official pronouncement left little doubt about Ford's current perspective on the AFA's goals. Not to put too fine a point on it, Vokes' words were multi-national corporate PR speak for "fuck off and die."

Ward's Automotive recently profiled Pete Gerosa, GM's former Vice President for Field Sales, Service and Parts. Although Gerosa's heading for retirement, he's still on the road, selling the company line to GM's dealer network. Reporter Steve Finlay painted the 42-year industry veteran as a living link between GM's past and professed future: selling the vehicle, not the deal. While Finlay pressed Gerosa on GM's so-called value pricing, the scribe failed to confront the exec about GM's recent sales incentives or The General's March Madness campaign. In any case, Finlay's feature contained a telling tale.

At a dealer conference, David Latshaw, finance director at Shaver Pontiac in Thousand Oaks, CA, asked Gerosa why GM can't build enough Solstii to meet demand. "Our dealership had 600 initial orders and only got thirteen cars,' Latshaw said. "What is the right number?' Gerosa answered. 'Too many, and you discount. Too few, and there are waits. But thirteen is too low." Ya think? Latshaw: 'We put a sold Solstice in the showroom just to display it, and people were saying, 'I want to buy that car!' They got mad when we told them they couldn't. They were freaking out. We had to hide the car in back." Before we file that one under defeat, from the jaws of victory snatched, note Gerosa's inability to accept responsibility for the company's screw-up or promise any kind of resolution to an ongoing problem.

Badge-engineering. You know the drill: take a run-of-the-mill bog standard plain Jane vanilla sort of car, add some external bits and internal pieces, tweak the ride, slap on a more prestigious badge and jack-up the price. More specifically, the "new" Lincoln Zephyr is a Ford Fusion with a modified grill, wood trim, floatier ride, Lincoln logo and an inflated sticker price. So rather than badge engineer my Ford Fusion review, I'm going to tell you what Ford– sorry, Lincoln, should have done with this car.

The obvious answer is nothing. Lincoln needs a front-wheel-drive mid-size sedan like Hummer needs a camouflage SMART (unless they use it as an H2 escape pod). Even if we ignore Lincoln's illustrious past– first betrayed in 1936 by a funny-looking car called a Zephyr– the brand's recent history sets the standard. Exhibitionist A: the Lincoln Continental Mark IV: a huge, thirsty, poorly-built, foul-handling beast from a time when jeans had bells at the bottom. While the infinitely smaller [modern] Zephyr is so safe and reliable it Hertz and boasts twice as much everything room than the old Mark, Lincoln's '70's luxobarge holstered a 7.5-liter V8 with more swagger than Ludacris at a Kapp Alpha Theta. Now THAT'S what I'm talking about.