New York, it is famouly said, is a city that never sleeps.  It’s also a city that never drives.  No one in New York has a car.  In fact, New Yorkers, in their patented more-impressive-than-thou attitude, look down on folks who drive, just like they look down on most things the rest of America enjoys.

And by “they,” of course, I mean the New York Times.

Tom Friedman wonders, “Is there a company more dangerous to America’s future than General Motors” and compares GM to “a crack dealer looking to keep his addicts on a tight leash.”

I used to own a GM car, my beloved ‘71 Oldsmobile Delta ‘88 Royale convertible.  Biggest thing you ever saw.  All steel.  it was so thirsty for gas, I swear it didn’t get 10 miles to the gallon, it got 10 gallons to the mile.  But it never posed a danger to anyone.  And boy was it fun.

Likewise, the new movie “Cars” is fun.  And by fun, of course, I mean offensive to the elitist sensibilities of the New York Times film critic.  Naturally, the first car the critic plugs in the movie review is a Volvo, and that’s in the second sentence.

And from there it just gets, well, equal parts politically correct and snide:

• “tow truck with a deep-fried accent”
• “ethnic and cultural profiling is pretty much par”
• “only identifiable “black” voice”
• “film’s regrettably retro attitude toward all things automotive”
• “not a hybrid in sight!”
• “instead of blowing the living world into smithereens, these machines have just gassed it with carbon monoxide”
• “Detroit’s paving over of America”

That last one take the cake.  Yes, if only America sees the world the way they do in New York — a city that perfected trash collection strikes.