Ow, they broke my childhood's leg!

When I first heard of the new Knight Rider movie, I was excited, and nervous. And I saw this:



which made me even more anxious, because his name's not Mike, dammit, it's Michael. Show David Hasselhoff some respect, stupid car. But I thought certain things were sacrosanct, untouchable. Obviously the new KITT would be a Pontiac Firebird, and speak in a fey British accent that made you feel that your annunciation was sorely lacking.

I was wrong. The new Kitt is in no way similar to the old one.

How do they want me to react? Like everything is ok? As if I would understand that certain updates were necessary, and frankly if the new car was also going to be the same model that the new David Hasselhoff would also have to have a curly, flowing mullet? And who's going to replace Hasselhoff, the German Wonder, anyway? Who is sufficiently masculine? Who has the guts to put himself out there like this:



or this:



or this?



How do you top that? You don't. All you do is sully the memory, and my memory is sufficiently sullied. So when my child, who won't be able to speak when the new Knight Rider appears, but will question me with his/her eyes, wonders what happened to the old Knight Rider, I shall say to him/her, "I'm sorry, my child. Michael Knight got ripped on uppers and blow, and crashed KITT into an orphanage. Let us never speak of this again."