Ever since I can remember, the Chevrolet Corvette has been the fat Elvis of sports cars. Every few years, someone would try to convince me that “America’s sports car” had received the engineering upgrades it needed to restore faded glory. But no. The latest ‘Vette was always a dynamic disaster: a feeble chassis married to lackluster brakes and an incompetent suspension, with more than enough horsepower to make it swap ends with frightening ease. Oh, and the car’s interior remained the only place capable of making a Motel 6 bedroom seem luxurious.

GM's second quarter financial results prove what we've been saying all along: sales do not necessarily equal profits. Thanks to its Employee Discount for All program, The General's turnover climbed by a staggering 47%. The automaker's US market share rose to 30%. And yet GM lost another $1.2b, which is nearasdammit the same amount they lost last quarter. Add up cash reserves, marketable securities and available assets (from an employees' healthcare trust no less) and The General has about $20.2 billion in the bank. Simple math says that GM's US division will be completely bankrupt in a little over four years.

Of course, that assumes a steady burn rate. It's entirely possible that the automaker's fire sale has sucked-up most of the cash from GM's customer base, leaving a diminished market for new products. These new whips will have to kick some major league ass (i.e. Toyota et al) to stave off an even more precipitous earnings slide. And again, that's income. GM's expenditure is still wildly out of control; despite Rabid Rick Wagoner's public pledge to hold the union's feet to the fire on health care benefits, he, um, hasn't. There's no word about containing equally onerous (though less publicized) production, labor, management, administrative, inventory, distribution and marketing costs.

When BMW designer Chris Bangle first unleashed his version of venerable 7-Series in '02, the oddly angular "flame-surfacing" inflicted upon the plutocrats pride and joy was roundly criticized for not being round enough. At the same time, the overly-complex iDrive mouse controller iDrove customers nuts. Although Bimmer's brand cachet helped maintain the 7-Series' showroom momentum, the new, "refreshed" 7-Series was designed to right those wrongs and restore the natural order.

And so the Seven's sheet metal has returned to slab-sided safety. Gone too are the peculiar Dame Edna wraparound headlights and the gi-normous, protruding back end bustle. The hood has been re-sculpted as well, giving the car's nose a somewhat flatter, more balanced appearance. Otherwise, Bangle's art school over-indulgence has been replaced by, of all things, blingery. Xzibit A, B and C: the larger kidney grill at the front, the concave seven-spoke wheels and the more tightly gathered rear bumper (designed to show off the 7's wider rear track). The overall effect is extremely color-sensitive and a bit schizo: Bad Boyz meets Bavarian burghers.

If you want a lesson in engineering excellence, drive the new Bentley Continental Flying Spur slowly. At 35mph, with just 1500rpms on the tachometer, the go-pedal responds to the slightest pressure with a perfectly measured amount of additional momentum. Reverse ditto the brakes. At the same time, the big Bentley’s power-assisted steering helms with an […]

So, GM car Czar Bob Lutz breaks cover again. This time, Maximum Bob strolled into the offices of AutoWeek to face a grilling from the magazine's [unnamed] editor. Well, maybe not a grilling; more like a few minutes in a reasonably warm room with his coat off and feet up. In fact, the rambling and less-than-grammatical nature of Max Bob's replies to AutoWeek's underhand lobs indicates some kind of no-edit deal with the mag. Presumably, what we're getting is unvarnished Lutz. It's pretty scary stuff.

After a bit of warm-up softball, we get down to the main event: branding. In two of the longest, most 'puddle of consciousness' paragraphs ever posted on the web, Bob provides a guided tour of the magical mystery maze known as GM's branding strategy. [NB: Immediately after this editorial appeared, Autoweek removed its interview with Mr. Lutz from its website.] "I don't want to start a debate" the Editor begins, leading with his chin, "but how many divisions are adequate to cover the market?"

An Italian tailor once told me that the best men's clothing is invisible. A well-made suit flatters its owner, not the tailor. And so it is with the Audi S4 Avant. Despite the company's decision to slather the press car in Crayola yellow, and their unconscionable policy of inflicting their gauche grill across the entire model range, the S4 Avant is an entirely restrained machine. It's completely devoid of the aesthetic fripperies that announce a heavily modified car's sporting aspirations. The S4 Avant is all about the driver, not the manufacturer.

The bias is obvious the second you enter the belly of the beast. As the S4 Avant's door thunks shut with startling finality, you're captivated by an interior that is as dour as it is functional; a dark plastic and leather cabin that feels more like an operating room than an automotive cockpit. Every human interface– from the clicking HVAC controls to the steering wheel's tiny thumbwheel controllers– reacts with perfectly measured tactility. Even the in-dash MMI (Multi-Media Interface) works with chilling precision. The car's single-minded minimalism raises your driving game on the subconscious level.

Hot rods are preposterous. That's why people love them. The new Magnum SRT-8 is a perfect example; the moment pistonheads clock The Dodge Boys' hot rod hauler they break into a big, stupid grin. Much of the comedic impact comes from simple nostalgia; the Magnum SRT-8 reminds them of pre-pubescent fantasies of unbridled power and unabashed style. In fact, I reckon the chop-top, dub-clad station wagon was born in the back seat of a '67 Chrysler Town and Country, when a proto-car designer watched a young Buck in a hopped-up sedan blow his Mom's doors off. So to speak.

In this case, adult reality matches childhood fantasy. If we're talking about straight line performance (a sensible restriction considering the uber-wagon's wheelbase and weight), the Magnum SRT-8 is fully capable of humiliating even the most muscular metal. Chrysler claims the Magnum SRT-8 will accelerate from zero to sixty in the low five's, and complete a quarter mile in the high 13's. After bellow blasting the beast from a standing start (in the breakdown lane) to a triple digit sprint (down the "set the radar detector on stun" lane), I believe them. This sucker is quick with a capital "K"; as in I'm gonna KICK yo' ass.

Opening up a recent issue of Autoweek, I was astonished by a picture of a new SUV. The vehicle's design was clean, modern and butch, without the slightest hint of off-roader clichés or overarching futurism. The newbie's sheet metal instantly trumped the latest crop of SUV's: the hideously-nosed Subaru Tribeca, the narcoleptic Saab 9-7x and the ungainly Audi Q7. I was even more astonished to see the GMC logo on the stunner's snout. When I saw the words "Hybrid Fever" in the title, I was ready for a big plate of humble pie.

The GMC Graphyte is, I soon learned, a concept car; though not in the Chrysler sense of the phrase. It's not an SUV that will eventually appear at your local dealership in roughly the same form. It's more like "here's something we spent a lot of money on to distract you from the fact that our next generation of trucks is just like the current generation of trucks with slightly better everything, but nothing particularly interesting, and certainly no killer ap like a really good hybrid engine." In other words, if you think GM has a secret weapon waiting in the wings to counter Toyota's inexorable march towards replacing The General as the world's largest automaker, dream on.

There comes a point in every enthusiast's life when it's time to slow down– at least until some of the penalty points on their license expire. To avoid a complete loss of personal mobility, hamstrung throttle jockeys often find themselves transitioning into a slower vehicle. Not being attuned to The Ways of the Sloth, these once and future speed demons usually slide into some po-faced laggard. Bad move. The miserable car nut simply ends up thrashing the horseless carriage until it reaches extralegal velocities. If you have to go slow, there's only one way to go: the Land Rover LR3.

The LR3 is Oxycontin on wheels. Here's the pharmacology: command seating, a light and airy cabin, widescreen windscreen, superior sound system, silken slushbox, progressive brakes and roll-suppressing air suspension. Press the right pedal and the British-made SUV doesn't administer the G-force jolt pistonheads crave. Instead, it unleashes something just as intoxicating: a seamless surge of forward progress known to the luxury-class cognoscenti as "imperious wafting". Within minutes, driving slowly is as sensually satisfying as lying in a hot tub after a long day's work. Ten minutes later and the "go-faster" part of your brain goes numb.

Winston Churchill called it the phony war: the period between the Nazi conquest of Poland and their assault on Belgium, The Netherlands and Luxemburg. During these eight months, millions of English subjects believed they were safe from the storm clouds of World War Two. By the same token, tens of thousands of GM employees believe that The General's future is assured, regardless of recent financial 'unpleasantness'. Military historians don't tend to use the phrase, but both groups can be characterized by the expression 'living in denial'.

For those with the courage to look, ominous signs are everywhere. Last month, Rick Wagoner stood in front of his shareholders and promised to end the incentive programs crippling GM's profitability and knee-capping its branding. Instead, The General's general launched the largest incentive campaign since 'Keep America Rolling'. In addition to the usual problems, 'Employee Discounts for Everyone' may be pulling GM buyers forward, rather than winning conquest sales. If so, the ranks of potential GM customers will be perilously thin come winter. Meanwhile, Rabid Rick is fully committed, extending the Employee Discount program beyond the July first deadline. Log this one under "friendly fire, ongoing".

When my Mom returned from a major shopping expedition, she'd justify her voluminous purchases by telling Dad how much money she'd saved. "If you save enough money we'll go broke," he'd remark. The reverse is also true. To wit: General Motors was losing $2331 per vehicle BEFORE they launched "Employee Discounts for Everyone". As it's safe to assume that the promotion's new, lower prices mean new, slimmer margins, The General's latest sales gimmick is actually hastening the financial demise of the world's largest automaker.

I know; it's got to the point where you start to feel sorry for these guys. I mean, what would YOU do if you had 1.2 million new cars sitting on dealer lots and abandoned airfields, waiting for Mr. and Mrs. Godot to walk through the showroom door? (Remember: new vehicles continue to emerge from The General's sausage-making machine 24/7.) The temptation to just give the damn things away must have been intense. Instead, GM had to pay for the privilege. It's true: when a manufacturer loses money on every sale, they're literally paying customers to buy their product. According to recent projections by Edmunds.com, GM's lastest incentive program will cost them nearly half-a-billion dollars. And that's only ONE of the ways this employee discount thing stinks.

It's been a while since I've driven a death car. My mind casts back to tail-happy 911's, centrifugal Corvettes, terrifying TVR's and flaming Ferraris. These days, very few car companies build cars that seduce you into serious speed, then blow up, fall apart, flip over and/or throw you into a solid object. I reckon I've survived enough motorized mayhem to know a death machine when I Ford GT one. So I was a little surprised when I turned at a four-way intersection, squeezed the gas and nearly drove the new Mitsubishi Eclipse GT into a parked car.

Torque steer. It's that squirrelly squirming sensation that tells you that a front-wheel-drive car's driven wheels are desperately scrabbling for grip. The Mitsubishi Eclipse GT is a torque steer poster child. Feed the Eclipse's 263hp engine some major revs and mid-course corrections are instantly out of the question– and that's WITH traction control. All you can do is saw away at the steering wheel, back off the gas and wait for the tires to grab enough tarmac to return you to normal programming.

Rex Raider recently ranted about The General's sales doldrums on GMinsidenews.com. The senior camp follower recognizes that hundreds of thousands of [former] GM customers wouldn't buy a GM car if it came complete with an employee discount, cash back, zero percent finance and free health care (no co-pays and dental). Raider posed a simple question: what would it take to win these buyers back?

The obvious answer is great product. But it isn't the right one. Even if GM built cars, trucks and SUV's that looked like sex, never broke and cost twenty dollars, most Americans wouldn't put them on their shopping list. That's because the average person (not you) is almost entirely risk aversive. When they purchase a product– whether it's a baked potato to a Pontiac G6– they're not looking for a Bigger Better Deal. They're not looking for a fantastic new taste sensation or the world's best car. They simply don't want to experience LESS pleasure than they did before. They don't want to lose.

Bob's blog is back. Once again, GM's Main Man has gone online to tell it like it is. Once again, T-TAC's ready to read between the lines, looking for the lead cloud surrounding the silver lining. Interesting enough, Mr. Lutz' June 10th entry, 'Only the Best', begins with a major mea culpa. GM's Vice President for New Product Development gives us a full and frank explanation of how The General earned its recent (as in 40-year-old) reputation for lackluster design and dubious build quality. Well, more frank than full, but it's still worth a careful read…

"A few years ago,' Bob writes, 'planners would sift through reams of data, segment the market, analyze and deconstruct the data until they discovered a niche in which we needed a new product…. the designers were given a formula to work with. Not a blank canvas, more like a paint-by-numbers scenario." So NOW we know why the Pontiac Aztec is so ugly: the design team lacked numeracy. Quite how the beancounters arrived at the formula that is the Corvette-powered SSR convertible pickup is anybody's guess. But wait! There's more! Things have changed! There's an answer!

You wouldn't turn a golf cart into an SUV, so why turn an SUV into a golf cart? And yet here we are in a Toyota Highlander Hybrid, gliding away from a traffic light like we're heading for the eighth tee. Mash the gas and the hybrid's petrol-powered engine kicks-in with the tiniest of judders. Instantly, there's more than enough petrol-powered propulsion to quickly distance ourselves from the following foursome– just as long as we stay on the fairway. According to the Toyota Motor Corp, even the high-spec, four-wheel-drive Highlander Hybrid SUV is "not designed to be driven off road".

Nor is it designed to be driven like a sports car. Which is a shame. You only need a Nissan Pathfinder or Ford Explorer doggie-sniffing your rear bumper once to realize that a surprising number of SUV owners like to drive like Hell. On the face of it, the Highlander Hybrid seems the ideal whip for supersonic Soccer Moms and NASCAR dads: 268hp (gas and electric engine power combined), zero to 60 in just 7.3 seconds and a tree-hugging rep to hide behind at cocktail parties and speed traps. The reality is less stirring.