Last Call: Wait, it costs how much?

Porsche has recently announced that customers will be able to get their fingerprint printed onto their car. Umm… I don’t know why anyone would want this in the first place but wait ’til you hear the price. $8,100! Yep, that’s how much it will take to get a giant smudge on the hood of your 911. Now I’m not one to judge what you do to your car, but if you order this then I’m either sorry for your stupidity or jealous of your money.

Apparently this is more of a flex to show what their robots are capable of doing since they also mentioned that other customer-specific designs will be available at a later date. Now that part does sound interesting, but I still wouldn’t pay eight grand to put a smudge on the hood when I’m trying to constantly keep them off.

Last Call indicates the end of Hooniverse’s broadcast day. It’s meant to be an open forum for anyone and anything. Thread jacking is not only accepted, but it’s also encouraged.

My name is Colby Buchanan and I love all things car-related all the way from rusted 240sx's to McLaren Senna's and of course I have a soft spot for American Muscle. You can spot me in my bone stock '06 350z named MackenZ.

22 Comments

      1. She’s built like a tank!
        She’s built like a box!
        She’s reliable and will run forever!
        You can run her forever for a dollar!
        I don’t see this getting better or more politically correct. I’ll be back in my ditch.

  1. We have started calling my cat “Richard Nixon”; on account of all the carpet bombing he do.

    I have nothing car related.

    1. Now I want to rename my Rottweiler. She has a bit of a farting issue.
      Let’s see I can make this car related. She’s a 110 pound 5 year old breeder rescue who had never been out of a barn. So when it was time to get her into our Outlander this was an issue. This was new to her. instead of going into the second row seat where there was room. She decided to go in front of the seat like a ferret in a small space. She supermanned it from the ground. Poor thing having to hear us laugh but what could you do. We helped her the rest of the way into the SUV. She made it half way.
      Now she can get into my Kia Soul. Still impressive for a dog that large. I’ve only owned midsize and small dogs before this one.

        1. These aren’t SBD’s but they aren’t “potatopotato” either. More Tercel like in sound but diesel bro truck like in quality.I am in the process of changing her fuel to a higher octane.

        1. Funny I was going to from “Rylee” to Wall of Meat because of how she acts but I like your idea.
          Still I think I can get her on Twitter by changing it to SteakUmm and doing TikTokk.

      1. Name her after whoever makes “fart cannon” exhaust systems for old Civics. Or “Beet Japan” an actual maker of motorcycle exhausts popular with Bosuzoku back in the day.

  2. You know these fringe economic theories about how insane excess like that fingerprint BS is a canary in a coalmine (hedgehog in a corona?) for a coming bust/recession?

    Restore some inner tranquility with this little video from a mountain road in my neck of the woods. These guys are working on making a mountain pass drivable again, MAMPDA.

    https://streamable.com/5orlm

  3. So you can take a photograph of the car, 3D-print a section of it, and access whatever is “protected” with a fingerprint? A couple of years ago you would have to steal a glass touched by your victim to do that, thank you for the service!

    1. That’s the really insane thing. In a time when everyone is concerned about privacy and the value of personal data, Porsche is aloft enough to offer this. Next up, DNA infused exhaust notes? I guess white collar crimes are of a character that doesn’t need exposure of whodunnit, it is rather a howcatchem.

    2. Plus you can only sell the car to someone with an identical finger print. That somewhat cuts down the pool of potential buyers…

    1. I don’t think the first sentence is as important as some people think, but this one is intriguing indeed:
      “The bathtub was still full of champagne when Peter Christian Barrie barged into the gamblers’ hotel room just after dawn on Labor Day in 1926 with bad news to share.”

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