Granted, my legs have many hundreds less horsepower than can be found under the hood of your vehicles. True, in a lifetime of purchases I'll never own as much leather as required for one Maybach interior. Not only that, my legs have never garnered the status with which the Maybach badge (unknown though it may still be) battles in the ultra-luxury sector.
How-flippin'-ever, this is one of the ugliest cars on the planet. Weeks ago, GoodCarBadCar labelled it as 'puketastic' and 'vomit-worthy'. Autoblog suggests that it's for 'eccentric' buyers only - the folks that would be called crazy if they were poor.
Justifying $1million+ price tags for a Lamborghini Reventon or the Bugatti Veyron is one thing. But this? This behemoth? Put it this way: if my daughter were a Corvette convertible or 911 Turbo or any other popular and high-class girl, there's no way I'd ever let her go out on a Friday night with the Maybach Landaulet. The Landaulet is never going to take a lady out for the evening unless its friends (the Landaulet has friends?) set them up on a blind date. This is the kind of car other cars avoid. With angst.