Memo to: Csaba Csere
From: John Phillips
Csaba, I’m not sure I should be the guy writing about this truck. Remember my Viper review (November 2002)? I recall a lot of hissing, some dark threats, a blanket apology or two. Didn’t you have to mail out pricey Xmas gifts to smooth that one over?
Memo to: John Phillips
From: Csaba Csere
Editors who are assigned a road test are expected to complete that road test. It’s not a difficult concept. If you didn’t get enough seat time, talk to Yates. I saw him driving the SRT-10, and I think he liked it. Don’t get me into trouble over this, okay?
Memo to: Brock Yates
From: John Phillips
Hey, Brock, did you drive this brute? Moses in a muumuu, man. There’s a whole Viper driveline in there, did you know that? That’s insane. Don’t get me wrong, it’s a fabulous engine. Who’d complain about 500 horses, right? But why attach it to a 5139-pound rear-drive truck with the traction of a gravy boat? You know, a Saturn booster rocket is powerful and fast, too, but it’s not particularly useful in rush-hour traffic. I’m willing to accept the concept of a 153-mph hot-rod truck the day I see it carrying a load of drywall to a job site, you know? If a guy wants a two-seater that costs $45,795 and runs like a Corvette, why not buy a Corvette?
What does “SRT” stand for, anyway? Stupid Republican Tricks?
John, you trembling liberal weenie. Let’s get this straight. I like the SRT-10. I love the SRT-10. Any pickup that’ll suck the headlights out of your beloved tea-bagger roadsters is all right by me and the rest of us beer-drinking, smoke-’em-if-you-got-’em real Americans. The only thing the SRT-10 needs is a big “No. 3” on the back window and a gun rack inside. If that offends you and your weepy pals, I suggest you go back to Canada where your real roots are planted.
Brock, you Heston-hugging hunk of hubris. I’ve warned you about calling me a weenie. My grandmother called me that. Also my mother. My girlfriend, too.
Listen, I’ll admit to liking the SRT-10’s steering—accurate, even light, which is amazing, because those 22-inch Pirellis (what’s that, a “dub plus two”?) must each weigh about as much as Orson Welles. And the clutch is lighter than I expected, although I still can’t depress the pedal through an entire red light. The trick seats are fine, too—aggressive bolsters that aren’t intrusive. So, see, there’s that.
But don’t tell me you enjoyed the spindly foot-long Hurst shift lever. You’d replace the knob with an eight ball, right? You ever try to find reverse in this thing at night? I’ll bet you even liked the pushbutton starter. Probably reminds you of the Eliminator. Well, pal, does the Eliminator also make 83 decibels of racket at wide-open whack? Shouldn’t we be considering a pair of OSHA-approved ear protectors, here?
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