It’s difficult to put a price on cynicism in this day and age, but allow me to make a suggestion: $13,900. Four years ago, the newly-introduced Porsche Cayman 3.4S retailed for $58,900. The mechanically similar Boxster 2.7 was $45K flat. That nearly fourteen-grand price difference would have purchased a well-equipped Hyundai Elantra, but at Porsche it got the Cayman buyer a hardtop, which costs less to manufacture than the Boxster’s soft top, and a bored-out engine, which costs exactly the same to make as the small-bore variant.

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This is a moment too powerful to be taken lightly, too special to be considered ironically, too vital to examine with any pretense of journalistic impartiality. I am seated behind the wheel of an absolutely perfect, fully-loaded, brand-new Porsche GT2, unwinding the wheel at the exit of Nelson Ledges Road Course’s Carousel turn. Next to me, the car’s owner, entrepreneur and bon vivant David Kim, has planted himself squarely into the GT2’s fixed-back passenger-side bucket, rigid with anticipation. There is traffic ahead, several cars varying from Improved Touring racers to tuned-up street Hondas. It’s time to accelerate, so I press the right pedal into the carpet.

The propaganda literature that accompanied the little batch of sleeping pills—complete with a waiver absolving the USAF of all liability—promised that I would awake refreshed and ready to battle desert ninjas. Sure enough, I awoke alert. But mentally, I wasn’t all there. I was fully aware of my full potential, and could access it at will, but there was a disconcerting disconnect. No, I didn’t drive the Cayman PDK in this altered state. It’s the same feeling created by the German two-door. Yes, the paddle-shift Cayman is a full-on Porsche. It offers precise handling, a jewel of an engine and magnificent brakes. Yet the Porsche Doppelkupplungsgetriebe stood in the way of the Porker’s legendary man – machine interface. It created dynamic doubts that I’ve never experienced in a Porsche before.

In theory, a dual clutch gearbox offers drivers the best of both worlds: a corner-carving-compliant paddle shift system (complete with computer-controlled, rev-matching throttle blipping) and a waft-enabling automatic gearbox. As developed by the BorgWarner, the DSG version lifted a well-sorted VW Golf GTI into automotive Valhalla. Porsche fans arched their collective eyebrows, anticipating the day when Stuttgart would perform a similar transformation for the world’s only best everyday supercar: the 911. Porsche Doppelkupplung (PDK) is here, attached to the model’s 900th evolution. Is the system finally ready for hammer time?

There I was cutting, clipping and carving corners in the ultimate Porsche 911, balancing the need for speed with self-control. I felt like an Olympic skier or Iron Chef. But there was an element missing from the GT2 experience, a deficiency that niggled like a loose ski boot or a nicked Shun Santoku. Torque. As in instant-on shove. Porsche's brilliant 3.6-liter boxer engine has too much boost and not enough low-end grunt. But isn't perfection standard in a Porsche, especially for one that costs $197,000?

"The Porsche Cayenne is a deeply misunderstood machine," RF told me before my test drive. "It's one of the world's fastest off-roaders, not a house-broken truck." Huh? Why would a world famous sports car maker (if not THE world famous sports car maker) tempt infamy by making a kick-ass mud plugger instead of a FX-style sports-car-on-stilts? The answer, I'm told, lies deep in Porsche's DNA. In the late eighties, Porsche jacked-up their 959 supercar and entered it in the grueling Paris – Dakar rally. In their second attempt, the German automaker scooped first, second and sixth places. "Take the entry level V6 off road," RF commanded. "Thrash it without mercy. THEN tell me what you think." Sounded like a plan.

Sam Adams Light. Porsche Cayenne GTS. Same deal. Both the American light beer and the German "sport truck" are fundamentally flawed concepts– made palatable by knowledge, passion and invention. Did I say palatable? I meant enjoyable. You can quaff copious quantities of Sam Adams' 124-calorie-per-bottle beverage without thirsting for "real" beer. By the same token, you can drive the snot out of the 405hp GTS without asking your companion "Dude, where's my Boxster?" In both cases, if you didn't know better, you wouldn't, and you wouldn't care. But if you do, will you?

Since 1859, Charles Darwin’s theory of evolution has challenged religious fundamentalism. Forget Adam and Eve. Humans started as random spices in a primordial soup. Natural selection took us from soup to trees, trees to cars. And then Ferdinand Porsche created a mutant Volkswagen. Since its inception, the 911 has been evolution’s four-wheeled poster child, moving quickly from an oversteer monster to a supersonic pussycat. And then, on the seventh day, Stuttgart created the latest Turbo, a car so capable that driving it is a biblical revelation.

Global warming. Some consumers consider hybrids the responsible response. Others are busy taking one last toke on the tailpipe of extravagance. Pistonheads, have I got a bong for you! After accelerating Porsche's 2.5 ton brick to 60mph in less than five seconds, I can only conclude that you NEED a Cayenne Turbo– if only to outrun the Earth Day crowd tossing rocks at your windows. The Turbo is pointless and politically incorrect and you better get one now before all the oil and clean air are gone forever.

About a decade or so ago, I traveled to BMW's Munich HQ to pick-up a press fleet K100RS. I arrived with a hard shell suitcase, intending to transfer its contents to the motorcycle’s panniers. When a press flack asked about the case, I joked that I was going to bungee it onto the back of the bike. When we returned from lunch, German engineers had attached my suitcase to the butt of Beemer’s “flying brick,” complete with homemade aerodynamic addenda. They’d found an elegant way to accomplish a completely ludicrous task. Porsche Cayenne Turbo S? Same deal.