Lies, honour and cars - The pitfalls of car journalism

Hands up who likes a wanker? Me neither.
So it is that I find myself walking away from a meeting with a 'car journalist' of some repute (ill repute I say) with a mixture of relief and frustration.
Relief that I will never be an honourless, ignorant, wanker like this guy, but frustration that his corpulent arse is in a chair I aspire to occupy.
Such is the bind of those who have a passion for the art of car scribbling.
There will always be wankers in any profession, some industries - like marketing/sales - more than others, but I expected the great leveler, a love of cars, to bring us all to a common understanding.
A point at which love of internal combustion would prevail over all, automotive altruism guiding our actions and dealings like some egalitarian hand from above.
I've never been religious but my bibles have always had cars on the cover.
This Fatwanker clearly wasn't on the same page as I. Then again, he is the kind of guy who wouldn't get out of the bath to take a shit unless there was a financial incentive. Fuck him.

However crestfallen I was after meeting feculence in the shape of a man, I reminded myself of why I am here and what it is I love by having a quick look through the Classic Throttle Shop in Sydney.