I got my George Jetson car. Okay, technically it’s The Dude’s car, but I get to drive it occasionally. It doesn’t fly, but it comes very close in all other respects.

It doesn’t have a regular key and ignition. You get in using the proximity remote. Once inside, you push the power button. The front heads-up display appears as does the touch pad climate, audio, and trip display.

It’s ready to drive, but I’m sitting in silence. That is until the Lucy station on XM radio kicks on with Nine Inch Nails’ “Closer.” I toggle the Lucite encased CVT gear shift to “D.” There’s a small hiccup as I depress the gas pedal and glide off in almost complete silence.

The Dude is calling it The Pious. But it’s really The Prius – and it rocks.

I like to drive fast. Even my “Mom-mobile” is a turbo-charged Volvo station wagon. But in the Prius, I am The Zen Queen. “Pass me, you SUV douche bags, I care not. You are dinosaurs and I am a mammal. Your reign on Earth is coming to an end. Bwahahahahahah!” Okay, so I get a little personal while driving.

According to the sticker, it should get 60 MPG on the highway. I asked the salesman when we were test driving it what it really got, and he admitted to 50 MPG on the highway. I can live with that. At least for now.

I don’t think we’re saving the world by buying the Prius. I’m just hoping to make a change in some small way. And I figure – like Egg Shen says in the beginning of Big Trouble in Little China, “See, that was nothing. But that’s how it always begins. Very small.”

And ain’t that the truth?