If you have a superiority complex, this is the car for you. It’s for your uncle who swears he could’ve been in the military if he didn’t get AIDs in the 70s, who carries around an “apocalypse box” in the trunk just in case! He can do that because the trunk on this goddamn thing is the size of the grand canyon. It’s massive and can fit AT LEAST 3 limp bodies, 2 stiff bodies. There’s a full size spare tire in there, and the police interceptor has a neato little tray that pulls out for fancy police equipment! Like tasers, blunt force trauma and pepper spray! (i’m kidding please don’t hurt me)

Working our way from the rear to the front, next up is the rear seats. In a regular police interceptor, the rear seats are plastic to avoid criminals eating the foam or something, but the previous owner replaced it with actual real seats. Actually, the previous owner gives you an idea of who this car is for; a private detective. Because of course, who else. I believe you’re required to drive this with a set of aviators, but perhaps I should check the owners manual.

Moving forward, we get to the front seats. They’re as if you took a piece of cardboard, bent it in the middle and put foam on top of it. The surface area is more than enough for your giant, enormous dumpy of an ass. Hell, you could fit a midsize family home on these seats, they’re clearly made for 300+ lb cops filled with donuts. On the roof inside the cabin, like a piece of jello stuck on the ceiling, is the “police rated” dome light that shines like the sun to distract other driver in the middle of the night. You know what else distracts drivers? Shining a giant spotlight directly into the eyes on oncoming traffic, which you can now do with the police package!

This simple spotlight is always in your peripheral while driving, but it creates something I’ve never felt to this level in a car before. That feeling is POWER OVER OTHERS. You see that spotlight and you get the feeling that people are required to RESPECT YOU, you own the fucking road and there’s nothing anyone can do. You drive a crown vic, an old cop car, and that cop heritage never goes away. The car knows what it has gotten away with and it’ll continue to try and get away with more until the day it dies. The throttle is punchy as FUCK because the car is ready to mow over criminals, it wants to spin the wheels through the limited slip diff because it’s preparing to start evasive maneuvers. This car is like your uncle who got dishonorably discharged but still treats you like you’re in bootcamp. The feeling of power over others it gives the driver is IMMENSE, unlike anything I’ve felt before. And fuck, I loved it.

Grab that shifter column, slam it into drive and go. It’s always ready, but like a yappy chihuahua, the Crown Vic has a soft side. Just cruising feels great, those plush seats you can just melt into and the suspension is sufficiently soft yet firm, like a good mattress to fuck on. Also, that V8 really does want to go. Even if it isn’t particularly powerful, the torque does more than enough to keep you entertained. And damn, you feel badass slamming the car from park to drive and mashing the gas, like you’re taking off after a speeding Mustang.

I see why so many people daily these, they are genuinely great cars with or without the whole “cop car” connotation, but the P71 will never escape that relationship with pigs. Depending on who you are (and where your morals lie), this can be a good thing or a bad thing. I’ll put it this way: if you secretly get off when people call you “sir”, this is the car for you.