Why does anyone "Need" a musclecar?

Some one asked me this question last week. Obviously, this person had never owned or driven one, and neither had any of his friends. Yet he was commissioned by the publication he writes for to do an article on the attraction people feel for classic muscle cars, and why the new retro- Mustang, Camaro and Challenger were about the only american cars selling good in this recession. We know each other professionally, so he asked my help. I remembered when I converted a friend of mine back in the '80's. This guy had played with Volkswagens for years, building and selling several "Baja" Bugs and a couple Karmann Ghias that he thought were fast. I'll never forget the day I took him for a ride in my mildly warmed over 77 Trans-Am. I powerbraked it a little, and lit up the tires all the way across the intersection. At 5,200 rpm, the Turbo 350 snapped off a quick 1-2 shift laying a good 8-10 feet of rubber. At the top of second, as we shifted to third about 5,000, the words "Holy Crap!" came out of his mouth.  I slowed down enough to make the turn onto a curving freeway on-ramp. As we came out of the curve. I punched it again, just as a 5.0 Mustang was coming up on us. The Mustang driver punched it too. As we came up on traffic, the Stang and I started to dodging cars, to keep the other from getting ahead. It wasn't quite the chase from "Against All Odds" , but my buddy was white-knuckled and white-faced, as the Mustang and I played cat and mouse at speeds up to 115 mph or so. The freeway split, and the Mustang driver and I gave each other a thumbs up, and he exited left and I exited right, as we knew if we fooled around any more we'd surely attract the attention of the men in blue. I pulled over to let my pal drive. He was muttering "Jesus Christ." "Jesus Christ."  "Here." Take a spin." I said and we switched seats. He took off in a cloud of tire smoke, and said again-"Holy Crap."  "I'll never again talk about Volkswagens." "I gotta get one of these."  He aired it out a couple more times before we went home. He was awed when I said-"I like this car, but it's not nearly as fast my 69 GTO was." "The GTO was faster than this?"  "A lot faster." I said. "Jesus Christ." He muttered again. Two days later he calls me to come and see his new car. I go visit him and see in his driveway an Orange 71 Plymouth Road Runner. I noted the "440" emblems on the hood. I looked inside, and saw the "Pistol Grip" 4-speed Hurst shifter. "I sold all three of my VWs to buy this." He said, grinning from ear to ear. "I want you to show me how to go fast in this."  He said. "You know how to drive." I replied. "Volkswagens." He said "Is all I've owned since I was 16." "I want you to show me how to drag-race in this."  "I don't want to break something on your car." "Don't worry about it." "Show me."  We went to a deserted country road near where he lived.  I revved the engine to 3,500-4,000 rpm and let the clutch fly. Even with a Sure-Grip rear end, the tires lit up halfway through low gear, while the car moved forward with alarcity. As the tach swept past 5,500 rpm, I powershifted to second, breaking the tires loose for another 30 feet or so. 5,500 came quickly, and I powershifted to third. The Road Runner was pulling on that mountain of torque like a freight train. We all know 440s are long-winded. I hit 4th, and it kept pulling.  I finally let off, and deadpanned like John Belushi in the Blues Brothers after Dan Akroyd eludes the police- "Car's got a lot of pickup."  My pal burst out laughing and said "That's why I bought it."  "Now let me try." He blasted up and down the road a couple times while I coached him on powershifting. He was an instant Mopar fan. Since then, he's also bought and sold two 68-70 Chargers, a 71 Charger, and a 72 Road Runner.  He converted another guy from his former VW club that bought a 72 Charger with a strong 440 in it. He spoke at a dinner his Mopar club was having, drawing great laughs with the story of how he got hooked on musclecars by a guy in a "Screaming-chicken Firebird." racing a 5.0 Mustang. The guy I was talking to was not impressed by this story. Just telling him didn't do it.  I let him drive my Hurst / Olds, even letting him do burnouts and shift the Dual/Gate shifter manually. "I stand corrected." He said.  "It's like Harley riders say-"If I have to explain, you won't understand." This is what's weird." My fellow journalist said.  "It's big, heavy, has a small backseat, a small trunk, poor rear visibility, and uses too much gas."  "Yet, I can't remember the last time I drove a car with so much charisma."   "It turns heads everywhere, rides and handles good, and just feels great." "We've learned a lot about tires and suspensions in the last 30 odd years, but I think we've forgotten how engines should run."  " I can't quantify why anyone "Needs" a car like this, but now I damn sure know why they want one."  Amen.  Mastermind