Actually, it’s weird that you find your truck sexy but think that a pink set of curves that turns into a hovering pad of ecstasy that fights for the rights of all sentient beings is beneath your notice. I submit to you, sir: you’re weird for wanting to fuck your truck, and I’m perfectly god damn fine with my desire to make sweet love to an Autobot with a Princess Leia hairpiece.
It’s a simple question, doctor: would you eat the moon if it was made of ribs?
