Sitting alongside dada, mama and other words related to the Surrealist movement, my first words also included the various makes of automobiles on the street. By the time I was 5 or 6, I was pretty much able to recognize and prattle off the names as my dad drove around in a mini.

At that point in my life, Ferraris were it. They were my favouritest car in my collection of miniature die-casts, my dream car so to speak. Sleek, red objects of desire. Lambos were a close second, with Lotus a relatively distant 3rd.

As I grew older, my tastes changed, moving away from flashy sports cars to small, cute movable lawnmowers and the like for whatever absurd reason, be it environmentalism, a love for avant-garde aesthetics, bauhaus or post-punk/modernist leanings. Yes, that was complete poseur rubbish but you get the point.

I just found that sports cars were a completely worthless display of male virility ensconced in a metal shell. 99% of sports cars owners, I found to my dismay, tended to have receding, graying hairlines and seriously bad taste in women and gold chains. It seemed like the sports car was their last refuge of immaturity, the culmination of their final, desperate attempts to cling onto some fading vestige of youth. Despite the throaty engine roars, they have but limp sputters from a phallus lined with wrinkles. My deftly evolving sentient mind would have nothing to do with this grotesque, neolithic version of humanity. /spit.

Then, along comes the new Audi R8. Wonder of wonders, my eyes melted in their sockets when I first chanced upon them. This is the supercar to supercede all the sub-par cars. Initially, I was thinking this renewed interest in flashy sports cars was either a) a rekindling of my innocent boyhood manifesto of sports cars for all; or b) a sign that I’m getting old and falling into that pit of old men slowly whittling themselves away. At the moment, I’m with c), which is, the R8 is just too damn tight to be dismissed aka I’m am in complete denial of b) and way too mature to say a).

Seriously, it is beautiful, absolutely stunning. Top Gear made it car of the year 2007 for good reason. It is based off the Lambo Gallardo which is a fine specimen but one which retains a certain horny old man steez. The R8 though, transcends the hate, making me forget its a wasteful exercise in false opulence/masculine pride/internalized homophobia and allowing me to believe that it is, just a bloody beautiful car too good not to R8.

Ok that’s quite corny but its hard to see anything but amazing from its smart-esque contrasting body panel and mostly aluminium construction. It also comes with an optional B&O soundsystem just for kicks. The aggressive front end is to me, perfectly balanced, incredibly Audi in terms of language and yet incredibly sexy, which isn’t something you’d ever associate with an Audi, until now that is. Damn Germans and their repressed emotional states. This is none more so exemplified by the bum end, which is basically what all women should look up to.

Here’s the R8 besting the Guggenheim in Bilbao. Taxi for Mr. Gehry please.

Here’s a lovely ad.

And here’s another one.