You don’t choose a Hilux, a Hilux chooses you. Typically, before a man takes his king of the road crown, he must complete an apprenticeship with a flatbed ute. This is an important stage in his evolution, as it’s here that he will hone his Hilux-stare.

Once the young buck is ready to butt-heads with every other driver on the road, he will aggressively lowball every Hilux seller on Gumtree in the search for his baby. Only after he shortchanges the seller and then threatens violence is he officially a big enough man; only then is he officially worthy of a Hilux.

According to Toyota, the Hilux is “unbreakable”. However, according to a Hilux owner, plenty of other things are, like your jaw if you have the audacity to merge within his zone of vehicular dominance.

Nor is the front wall of your house unbreakable, as you’ll eventually find out when Robbo gives Star Track a little lesson in customer service and delivers 1.4 tonnes of Japanese technology right into your lounge room.

Oh, and tailgating laws? Very breakable. Very breakable indeed. There is nothing a Hilux driver likes more than giving every other motorist the old Canning Vale-colonoscopy and getting further up your arse than a pair of silk boxers on a warm day.

Of course, if you are lucky enough to be behind a Hilux driver you will be treated to the vehicular acrobatics of a driver who believes the best way to get to the same red light as you is to switch lanes every 10m like a concussed backstroker.

While you watch this erratic display please enjoy some of his horrible socio-political views which will no doubt be plastered all over his car. Fuckoff! Because his back windscreen is full of aggressively pro-Australian bumper stickers.

Some would suggest that it’s safest to be behind a Hilux driver, however, this isn’t always the case as Hilux drivers generally think that securing their load is for softcocks.

While some Hilux owners on-sell their thrashed out beasts to gullible buyers, most would rather see their babies stolen and used in the commission of an ATM ram raid at a suburban shopping centre. They get an insurance payout and society gets to see how big their car-dick is.

It’s the way God intended it.