If you multiplied the system's cost by approximately 18, you'd have the car's off-the-lot purchase price. A bit of a white-trash ratio, you say? Perhaps, but if it's true, I'll happily accept the label in trade for the derivation of extreme enjoyment.
A 12" subwoofer. A 1000W amp. A double-din bitchin' ass head unit. These are a few of my favorite things.
I pored over the purchase. Researched, and read, and researched some more. Only slightly less than for the car. The car is a love unto itself, so only something I wanted this badly could warrant anyone dismantling any part of it. But so they did, installed it was, and aurally bathed in sweet sweet bass I remain.
The kind of bass you can feel in your chest. Club Laney, as it has been fondly called by its passengers. Not the kind of bass that is obnoxious and rattles the entire car. Rather, the kind of bass that is nestled just so, as to produce a whomp to the fullest extent without distortion. The whomp to which I am admittedly addicted.
Which brings me to my point. One cannot enjoy such a finely tuned, well equalized, acoustically perfected sound over the chatterings of the human voice. So if you absolutely must speak in my car, it had better be better than music to my ears.