When Your Dad’s Ride Has a Trust Fund: The Absurd Reality of a ‘Rich Car’
Picture this: a car so privileged, it’s never felt the sting of a budget gas station or the indignity of a discount oil change. This isn’t just a vehicle—it’s a four-wheeled trust fund baby, sipping premium fuel like it’s Dom Pérignon and rolling on tires costlier than your entire college diploma. The “rich car” doesn’t commute; it makes appearances. You’ll find it lounging in a climate-controlled garage bigger than your studio apartment, casually ignoring the existence of potholes (because why would it ever meet one?).
Features That Scream “I Have a Financial Advisor”
- Custom license plates that read “INVSTMNT” (because “SPOILED” was too honest).
- A navigation system programmed to avoid any road that hasn’t been freshly paved.
- Leather seats massaged by artisans who probably also train Tibetan singing bowls.
Maintenance? More Like Pampering
Your dad’s rich car doesn’t get “serviced”—it gets spa days. The oil isn’t changed; it’s “rejuvenated” with organic, gluten-free synthetic oil. The windshield wipers? Handcrafted by a Swiss engineer who moonlights as a horologist. And don’t get us started on the “emergency fund” for unexpected repairs—this car’s deductible could cover a down payment on a small island. Meanwhile, your hatchback cries softly in the driveway, wondering why its life insurance policy is just a AAA membership.
The Lavish Lifestyle of a ‘Rich Car’: Gold Rims, Caviar Hubcaps, and a Butler in the Trunk
When Your Ride Has a Higher Credit Score Than You
Imagine a car so opulent, it scoffs at mere leather seats and demands throne-like recliners upholstered in unicorn mane. The “rich car” doesn’t just roll—it glides, propelled by the sheer force of its own ego. Gold rims? Please. These aren’t just shiny circles; they’re 24-karat mood rings that change design based on the car’s “feelings” about the neighborhood. (Spoiler: It’s always judging.) And forget air fresheners—the cabin is perfumed with a custom scent called “Cashmere Banknotes,” which smells like a mix of mahogany, entitlement, and the tears of anyone who’s ever parallel parked it.
Extravagant Accessories: Because Basic is a Four-Letter Word
- Caviar hubcaps: Why settle for chrome when you can bedazzle your wheels with fish eggs? Sure, they melt in the sun, but that’s what the chauffeur-llama is for.
- Trunk butler: His name is Reginald. He serves tiny sandwiches and existential dread. You’ll find him squeezed between the spare tire and a case of ’45 Bordeaux, muttering about “adequate legroom.”
- AI-powered vanity mirrors: They don’t just say, “You look fine”—they gaslight you into believing you’re the true heir to a diamond mine.
Of course, maintenance is a nightmare. The gold rims require weekly polishing with a diamond-encrusted chamois, and the caviar hubcaps attract seagulls with a taste for luxury. Reginald, meanwhile, has unionized and now demands a “trunk spa” complete with herbal tea and a Bluetooth speaker playing lo-fi beats. The rich car’s response? A haughty honk that roughly translates to, “This is my life now. No refunds.”
How to Inherit a ‘Rich Car’ (and Other Problems You Didn’t Know You Had)
Step 1: Prove You’re Worthy (to a Car)
So, you’ve inherited a “rich car.” Congratulations! Or condolences. Depending on whether the vehicle in question is a vintage Rolls-Royce haunted by its former owner’s cigar smoke or a solar-powered DeLorean that only runs on Tuesdays. First, you’ll need to pass the car’s vibe check. Many luxury autos come with sentient GPS systems that judge your music taste and a glovebox that only opens if you whisper the founder’s name in Bavarian. Practice your bowing technique.
Step 2: Solve the “Other Heirs” Dilemma
Your uncle’s will mentioned the car goes to “whoever needs it most.” Unfortunately, “it” refers to both the car *and* its collection of 347 parking tickets from 1987. Now you’re in a legal battle with:
- A cousin who claims the car “owes them emotional support”
- A seagull named Greg who’s been living in the sunroof since 2019
- The dealership, which insists the car isn’t a car—it’s a “lifestyle asset” (read: they want it back)
Step 3: Master the Art of Fueling Existential Dread
Owning a “rich car” isn’t about driving—it’s about feeding its ego. Forget gasoline; this thing runs on organic, free-range premium unleaded compliments. Forget to tell it it’s pretty today? Enjoy a 3-hour breakdown (literal and emotional) on the highway while it sobs dramatically about “being replaced by a Tesla.” Pro tip: Carry a tiny top hat and monocle. You’ll need to gaslight it into thinking it’s attending a Gatsby party. Daily.