When you are inevitably hauled before a judge for orchestrating a 50-car pileup, surrounded by a jury of sedan-driving plebeians who cannot fathom the raw, unadulterated thrill of piloting a 1980s Grotti icon, take solace in one cold, hard truth: no matter the length of your sentence, you were easily the most chic person pulled from the smoking wreckage on the Los Santos freeway.