Gracias por los chestal vibrations

Does the moronic redneck driving the mega-tron-jacked-up pick-up truck with the huge shiny silver "No Fear" slogan emblazoned on the tail end, above huge mud flaps with erotic-nude female silhouette, not realize that everybody knows exactly what sort of person is driving it--because he is a moronic redneck? Or does he simply not care? Does he realize that the only people impressed are those who are similarly slithering around at the bottom of the smart pyramid?

How about the red Honda civic with the mostly painted gray stock car body kit, with the gargantuan spoiler and bubbly tinted windows? When approaching one of these cars, everyone automatically knows that a Hispanic male will be found in the driver seat. Just because I can feel his muffler reverberating through my chest as he drives by, does not mean I am impressed. Again, only those with equally shitty mufflers would feel inspired as their hearts and lungs are rattled in their rib cages.

What about the douche bag driving the Hummer H2? What is he trying to prove by getting 6 miles to the gallon, besides looking super tough and shnazzy with his oval Oakleys? For what is he compensating? How many people see his sweet rims and think, "I bet a really nice guy drives that thing. I'd sure like to meet him."

My question in all of this is, do these people realize that they are driving "profile cars?" Or are they completely oblivious? Are they so bent on placating their egos that they are blind to the fact that everyone is laughing at them or rolling their eyes as they drive by?

I think the answer to this query may be closely linked to the phenomena of why exactly bros think pink polos, a popped collar, and pooka shells are a good idea. Perhaps it will forever be a mystery.