The Internets, such as they are, are awash in articles, blog posts, videos, and thought-implant-imagery telling you what vehicle you should buy. If you go looking to find the difference between the 2020 Chevy Malibu vs 2020 Ford Fusion and if you should buy one or the other, you’ll find the answer, oh yes. It may be disguised as a thoughtful piece about one feature or another, or perhaps it will be draped in the luxurious cloak of comparison – though the fix is in and a winner has been chosen long before it was written or recorded. Today, however, I’m going to give you something very rare in this world, so rare you’ve probably forgotten what it tastes like: the truth!
You see, I don’t care which car you buy. I don’t care if you buy any car at all – ride a well-trained llama to work, walk, harpoon the side of a bus, and climb atop it while crying out, “Father, the sleeper has awakened!” It all makes very little difference to me. No, no, what I care about is one simple thing: that you know the truth, the one real truth of this world. And the truth is that I can beat up the Malibu and the Fusion in a fistfight!
Still Here? Good!
Before we get into the delicious clockwork innards of my argument, let’s take a moment to talk about what we’re talking about. Meta-communication dammit, it’s important! Look it up; I’ll wait…
You didn’t look it up, but we’ll move on. To be clear, I don’t mean to suggest that I could handle the full force of a 3,000-pound four-door sedan slamming into me at a brisk 60-70 mph. No, that’s insanity, and if there’s one thing I’m not, it’s insane. They ran their tests, and I jumped through their hoops, so believe me, if they could’ve locked me up and protected all of you from me, they jolly well would’ve done so.
No, no. What I’m talking about is a proper fistfight. I couldn’t beat up one of these vehicles if they got the drop on me or ambushed me at high speed like the reckless cowards they are. But if I caught one of them in the open, with nothing but our bare paws to do justice by, then ho-ho! They’d learn a thing or two about the limits of human dignity, yessir.
The 2020 Chevy Malibu
We’ll get to the fisticuffs in a moment, be patient. First, let’s have a look at my “worthy” opponents and see what they have to offer – so you’ll understand just how one-sided this brawl truly is. Not that you should really care, but the 2020 Chevy Malibu has two engines available: a standard 1.5L 4-cylinder and a 2.0L Turbo with a bit more power. I won’t bore you with horsepower and torque specifics, just know this: both engines pale in comparison to the awesome forces of my mighty fists.
Beyond that, all you really need to know about the Malibu is that it has ten airbags, which will come in handy when I’m unleashing a flurry of woeful blows upon its meager frame. It has an available HD rear vision camera, which means it will see my super rabbit kick coming from behind it in remarkable clarity, and LED daytime running lamps to cast their impressive glow upon each of my strikes as I render it broken before me.
The 2020 Ford Fusion
What about the 2020 Ford Fusion, you ask? Surely it must be able to stand against your righteous frenzy, Mr. Von Gourdboddum. Oh, you fool. You foolish fool.
Consider this: the Fusion has an impressive available 2.0L EcoBoost engine, not to mention a stunningly efficient hybrid 2.0L engine that offers a combined 42 MPG fuel economy. I won’t lie, those are some excellent numbers, and the horsepower and torque specs are every bit as good as what the 2020 Chevy Malibu has to offer. But it doesn’t matter… none of it matters! No force these pitiful sedans can manage comes close to the raw, bodacious power of my mighty mitts.
The Fusion also has plenty of airbags: front knee airbags, front-seat side airbags, side-curtain airbags – I think it has airbags inside its airbags to soften the blow. But it avails it little – they could have special popcorn loaded airbags that prepare a nice snack for you while crushing your face in during a collision, and it wouldn’t save them from my unimaginable power. Its available voice-activated navigation might come in handy when a driver is trying to figure out where they’re going, but it will not save the Ford Fusion as I rain blows upon it!
How can I do so much damage? How can I possibly deliver such crushing slams of palm and knuckle upon these two vehicles? Simple: my fists were handed down through the generations, passed from master to apprentice for centuries until they came to rest upon my steely wrists.
My left fist is Sir Walter Punchington, a powerhouse of raw force and sustained damage. It strikes with deliberate grace and impeccable precision. Sure, the Chevy Malibu might be able to see it coming, but that doesn’t matter. You can’t dodge it, can’t avoid it; only suffer its belligerent strikes as defeat steams toward you like an inevitable, knuckle-y locomotive.
And my right fist is the Honorable Sandra Day O’Clobber, the flashy fury of finesse and frenzied forcefulness. Not even the Ford Fusion, at top speed, could hope to see the devastating strikes of my right fist coming toward it. It’s too fast. Trying to stop The Honorable Sandra Day O’Clobber is like trying to catch lightning or shush a thunderclap. The power is far too great.
Physics On My Side
The fight would be over quite quickly for one simple reason: I’m faster and leaner than either the 2020 Chevy Malibu or the Ford Fusion. That means I’ll be able to take them by surprise and get the first strike – and all I need is one hit, maybe two: one from each of my clenched, five-fingered doom-bringers!
You see, when two cars collide head-on, the destruction can be catastrophic, and that’s my edge. Some simple physics tells us that the force of an impact is equal to the mass of the moving bodies multiplied by their acceleration. So all I have to do is strike these vehicles with as much force as they experience when running head-first into something like a brick wall. I’m not one to brag about my mass or my acceleration on any particular day, but let’s just say: that won’t be a problem.
Think You Can Do Better?
Not impressed? Impossible! I even came up with those awesome names for my fists, and I doubt you could do better. Oh really? Well nu-uh! Fine, what are the names of your fists, and what kind of vehicle could you take in a fight? I’ll wait… show me what you got!
Editor’s Note: The preceding content was left crumpled up in a ball and stuffed through the mail slot of our offices. While we would not normally disgrace our reputable website with such foolishness, we’re all pretty hung-over from a birthday party yesterday, and no one feels like finding something else to publish. Patricia Defonce, thanks for all the laughs last night – you’re a true party animal! Thank you.
