Man unable to sleep because of just how completely redesigned the all-new 2017 Dodge Grand Caravan is

He tossed and turned all night, the torque in his body not unlike the immense power of a V6 engine, offering up 200 horsepower at 5,000 RPM, making you ready for any road ahead.

It was a long, fitful night for Grance Tillerman.

"They – they redesigned it, the whole thing," he moaned in a half-awake feverish reverie, drenched in sweat, writhing around in his sheets as he grappled with the long-term implications of an EcoBoost fuel-injection engine optimized to give you maximum efficiency and performance.

"IT'S DIFFERENT NOW," Tillerman whisper-shrieked into the pillow he clutched to his chest, trembling with fear, uncertain whether upon first light he'd be emotionally able to accept the formidable, overwhelming reality that somehow – somehow – the new, updated 2018 model was even better than the 2017 version parked in his garage.

"Like, is it still even a car????" he whimpered, his clock radio glowing neon green in the darkness. 4:21 am.

Meanwhile, Tillerman's wife of 18 years, Andrea Stormm, had risen from bed hours ago and sat in the kitchen wrapped in a bathrobe with a cup of chamomile tea.

"We go through this every year," Stormm sighed. "I know now to leave the bed. Let him work through it. He'll be better in the morning."

"I used to lie there beside him and try to reason with him," she shares. "But he's stubborn and hard-headed. Not quite as hard as the 17-inch titanium alloys providing superior handling and versatility for busy families on the go. But, you know, almost."

As Storm sipped her tea, a haunting, almost otherworldly howl suddenly filled the upstairs floor of their home.

"DUAL. SIDE. AIRBAGS," it began. "FOUR-WHEEL ANTI-LOCK DISC BRAKES FOR IMPROVED STEERING CONTROL IN ANY WEATHER CONDITIONS SO YOU CAN PROTECT YOUR MOST PRECIOUS CARGO: YOUR KIDS!!!!!!!"

Moving with the swift self-assuredness of a woman who'd long ago reckoned with her fate, Stormm leapt up from her stool, yanked on a rope dangling from the ceiling, which activated a trap door in the floor. She then grabbed several blankets, family photo albums and other heirlooms from their mantel, and quickly disappeared into her underground bunker.

"Shit," she whispered hurriedly. "Look, I'm sorry. The anti-lock brakes are kind of his kryptonite. I have to take cover. Now. Right now."

Hours later, the miracle of a new dawn slowly descended on the house. In the hedges outside, birds chirped hopefully. Happily.

At 9:33 am, Tillerman stumbled downstairs, his hair wildly disheveled, his pulse racing, his pajama pants twisted halfway around his waist.

"The ultimate blend of style and sophistication," he mumbled. And he poured himself a hot mug of coffee, not quite ready but willing to face the day.

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