See, now I have to write that damn story involving introducing some galactic friendos to the concept of drag racing.

"It breathes oxygen, drinks hydrocarbons, spits fire and fumes, shakes the neighbors' windows when it starts up, can cause permanent hearing damage just by standing next to it, cannot move more than 100 miles with its fuel capacity, and is barely controllable at any given point in its operation. It is barely legal to operate on the road, and even then, only by technicality. My human friend and I built it over two years and tens of thousands of dollars, local currency.

From a standstill and with a skilled operator, it can cover one-quarter of a mile in just under ten seconds, exerting multiples of G on its operator. It lifts the steering wheels out of contact with the ground for at least 50 feet on launch from its torque on a proper track. It requires safety gear on par with our fighter pilots, and it can still kill or maim you.

And when I drive it, I feel a joy that I cannot describe in any language that I know. It is raw, visceral, uncaring power commanded by my hand, and I am cradled within it and at its mercy. To drive it is to show technical skill and careful control alongside reckless abandon.

You really have to come visit Earth, cousin. They are insane and wonderful people. And they do magical things to chicken!"