"Can you swim?" you ask, nonchalantly, as you hurdle towards the end of the Vespucci Pier. A moment of airtime later, the cool waters of the pacific are washing the pedestrian splatter from your windshield. The rudder and thrusters are engaged, and your pursuers are lost forever. You turn to the passenger seat, where your once-beautiful date is vomiting uncontrollably in abject terror. Yep, that is why you drive a Stromberg.