I love the intro to this article about the new Mercedes C-Class:

On average, the angriest e-mails I get are from former Mercedes-Benz owners on the occasion of my saying something nice about the company’s products. I imagine an irate reader pounding away at his keyboard in the wee hours of the morning, with a shiny Lexus in the driveway and a Stuttgart-made knife still quivering in his back.

Allow me to gloss: “I can’t believe you raved about the [insert gaudy hunk of German schteel here]. I bought a Mercedes a few years ago and it was a total piece of [insert colorful metaphor here]. I took it back to the dealer [exponential figure times] and finally got sick of them looking at me like I was speaking a foreign language [English?]. So, when did you go on the company payroll, you toadying, Hun-loving shill?”

It baffled my mind why people would be conned into buying a Mercedes. And here’s why, from the conclusion of the article:

Overall, I’ve got no complaints. In fact, I think this is an excellent automobile and a credit to its breed. The C-class feels precisely like what you would hope, as if Mercedes had invented a shrinking ray and turned it on an S-class.

But then, I don’t own one. The question has never been, can Mercedes blow up the skirts of an auto reviewer like me. Obviously, they make savagely cool and desirable cars. But can those cars be trusted? That is the C-class’ mission. To paraphrase Poe’s raven, Mercedes, take thy knife from out my back.