Are you anxious about acceleration? This is the car for you. Introducing the Renault Twingo! It takes everything you thought you knew about shopping carts and turns it on its fucking head! Now that wobbly fourth wheel can drag you through an orange light or park your little red wagon on your neighbor's flower bed, no questions asked.
The Twingo is fitted with a 1.2L engine, which probably surprised you as much as it does the Twingo every time you try and tell it it's an automobile that burns dead dinosaurs to fucking move. Slam your foot straight through the floor; this three cylinder hair dryer takes that as a suggestion. You've made your wishes known, well guess what! The Twingo doesn't give a shit, you arrogant prick; get out and walk if you're in a hurry, because this handbag masquerading as a car absolutely isn't gonna carry your ass if you want to go any faster than a mouse pulling a locomotive.
Red light means stop! Green light means stop in three weeks! You'd think a car which weighs about as much as a hummingbird's shit would have a little more pep in its step and be responsive to controls, but get this: fuck you! That's right. The Renault Twingo is the genuine Parisian experience distilled - open scorn and disdain for your valiant attempts to make this lightweight little bitch behave itself with your life in its hands. It doesn't want to start moving, but brother, once you get this little beast up to speed you better be in a mood to go forever because the brakes were designed in an age where the most complex engine mankind had to get from point A to B was feet, vigor, and a stubborn-ass attitude about the purpose of animals.
Capable of speeds measured by the noise the engine makes from 'standing under a fan' to 'drunk singing on the subway,' you'll be surprised every time this piece of shit catapults you through an intersection with only a transient knowledge of what the brake pedal is for. You want a town car? A runabout? A shopping basket for nipping between home and the supermarket? The Twingo doesn't want to be any of those things. It's a plastic coffin and it wants to be used. It's too light to do any damage in a collision, so yeah, get used to the idea that you're the corpse it wants to make.
You know how some small town cars will surprise you with how nimble and nippy they are off the mark because their little magpie engine is only moving a few grams of steel and plastic? Not the Twingo. The Twingo wants you to know it resents every moment your fat ass is smeared over the driver's seat, and if it can be rid of you, by god, it's going to make that happen.
