These cars are ticking time bombs. Any motor vehicle is for that matter, but Porsches tend to detonate with greater impact.

Never mind their numerous and amply devastating problem areas. Routine maintenance on my truck might run $250. The same routine work on the Porsche will likely cost twice that. Make that a replacement clutch or valve job, and the cost explodes to upwards of three times that for similar work on another vehicle.

But Porsche owners know all that. The Order of the Masochist Crest is worn with a pride that bespeaks willingness to shell out.

Years ago an auto magazine (Excellence?) featured a cartoon depicting two signs outside a repair shop. As memory serves, one read, "Porsche hourly rate: $75;" the other, "Por-shuh hourly rate: $115."

That cartoon said a lot about what Porsche owners are willing to endure for their cars and the sweet savor of exclusivity. It also hinted at something a good deal less sweet: cynicism.

I once saw "The Birth of Venus" — not the one in Florence, Italy, but a garaged version whose praises appeared in a local for-sale ad and went something like this:

We're thrilled and delighted to announce the sale of this timeless and fascinating work of art, with classic lines, luscious curves, a pedigree dating from a legendary era and pampered in a manner befitting her stunning beauty ...

Wikipedia
While Porsche ads often tout the cars as Botticelli's "The Birth of Venus" (left), they often end up looking like "Venus of Willendorf" (right).

I decided to see the car (an SC), largely because the asking price was reasonable. I also had a hankering to meet the author of the aforementioned bombast. The car wasn't bad — on the outside. Its inside and underbelly put me in mind of "Venus of Willendorf."

When I asked about the disparity between the car's overall condition and the inflated description in the ad, the "art dealer" grew indignant and snapped that the words used were those that Porsche lovers would appreciate.

Attention Porsche lovers: It's understood that you value pretentiousness, that you have a taste for evasiveness, that you're susceptible to paying more for less.

I recognize that cynicism, whether in the form of bloat or overpricing, is not unique to the sale and service of Porsches.

A supermarket hereabouts hiked its prices when gas prices shot up. When gas prices dropped the supermarket kept its higher prices in place and hung signs throughout the store that read: "We thank our loyal customers." Attention supermarket shoppers: Your loyalty will cost you.

I'm reminded of a line from "Hamlet": "For in the fatness of these pursy times virtue itself, of vice, must pardon beg."

Once again I'm in the market for a used Porsche. As I read the Byzantine ads, recoil at the prices and recall the marque's time bombishness — to say nothing of its many "embedded" issues — the image of another ageless beauty comes to mind, one whose nimbleness and simplicity bespeak fun and forthrightness. It's a Miata.

I'd miss the unique handling and intoxicating scream of a rear-mounted engine, but not the knowing grin that comes to the service manager's face as I enter the shop, not the "Por-shuh" hourly rates.

I'll see how things go.