I drive a large white convertible, which I love-love-love, and plan to be burried in; or cremated with on a pyre, like a Viking lord and his long boat; or at very least parked way out back with a tarp over us, where we would slowly rust and decompose, ultimately returning to the earth as I hear is the practice with some Hindoo Motoring sects. The far more practical Father Tony is getting one of these. His final arangement dictates for himself and the car are unknown to me.
Regardless, I want one of 'em too. A white one. No, a red one. Whatever.
But that doesn't mean I could live for very long without one of these, too:
I think I need to develop additional income sources.