Nissan GT-R.

The current objet-drool is sitting in the driveway. Its wide silver flanks sit astride four shiny chrome exhausts and meet mother earth on 20-inch gloss black rims. It’s the Nissan GT-R. Take a Nissan Sentra (or similar four door family car of your preference), amputate two rear doors with a sawzall, pack the whimpering invalid that results off to the gym with a canister of Bulk-Me-Up and instructions to "get ripped." The result emerges with bulges everywhere. Stretched and sliced, the passenger cabin is flattened into the high waist. This is a vehicle which buys attitude in 55 gallon drums from Costco. Weekly. It doesn’t demand respect. It grabs you by the throat, dangles you six inches off the ground and takes it.
The fact that it rests in my driveway is confusing. Some misguided soul decided it would be a good idea to give this spawn of video games and alien experiments to someone for a day. I must have been dozing because they looked for the most un-threatening individual in the room and picked me. Sad, really.
Silver bodywork, aforementioned gloss custom wheels, massive quad exhausts, deeply tinted windows and black leather interior. The only relief from the monochrome palette is the GT-R badge in lurid red. Puttering around downtown, the car is a dream. So the dash looks like it was designed by a 12-year old arcade addict (I actually learned some of the controls from Gran Turismo 5). So it has ridiculously tiny back seats. So the hood disappears into the distance and it has lousy rear vision.
Driving it is easy. Start her up, engage gear and burble off through your day. It would be easily possible to drive this monster at 30 mph all day long. However, if you feel the need to donate regularly to the local police retirement fund, plant that right foot. The car crouches down, gathers itself for a microsecond or two inside the vast electronic brain, and launches you to infinity and beyond. Really. And all this for only $90,000 or so.
If two doors are your thing, aggressive street looks desirable and you nurture the heart of a 15-year-old beneath the three piece suit, please, please go drive this thing. I still sit in my driveway waiting for it to return. Maybe, one day soon, it will