ล่าสุด MG (เอ็มจี) ประกาศราคาจำหน่าย 2021 NEW MG EP (นิว เอ็มจี อีพี) อย่างเป็นทางการแล้ว ด้วยราคา 988,000
**บทความนี้เป็นประสบการณ์ส่วนตัวของเจ้าของรถ 2021 MG5 (MG Pilot) และมาจากเว็บไซต์ประเทศจีน ไม่ได้เป็นความเห็นของ
2021 MG ZS EV (เอ็มจี แซดเอส อีวี) รถอเนกประสงค์พลังงานไฟฟ้าล้วนจาก MG (เอ็มจี) ที่ออกแบบเพื่อตอบโจทย์การใช้ชีวิตสไตล์คนเมือง
เอ็มจี เอชเอส ปลั๊กอินไฮบริด เปิดตัวในราคา 1,359,000 บาท2020 MG HS PHEV (เอ็มจี เอชเอส ปลั๊กอินไฮบริด
MG V801.ภายใน MG V80 กว้างขวางจุดเด่น MG V80 ก็คือด้านความกว้างขวาง เนื่องจากตัวถังที่ค่อนข้างใหญ่ ถ้าเทียบกับคู่แข่งก็จะเห็นว่าความกว้างความยาวความสูงล้วนแต่มากกว่าแทบทุกจุด2
MG HS C ราคา 919,000 บาท, MG HS D ราคา 1.019 ล้านบาท และรุ่นตัวทํอป MG HS X ราคา 1.119 ล้านบาท2.MG HS
เอ็มจี บริษัทรถยนต์ลูกครึ่งอังกฤษ-จีน นำเสนอ 2019 เอ็มจี เอชเอส (2019 MG HS) รถอเนกประสงค์เอสยูวีออกทำตลาดประเทศไทยทั้งหมด
**บทความนี้เป็นประสบการณ์ส่วนตัวของเจ้าของรถ 2021 MG5 (MG Pilot) และมาจากเว็บไซต์ประเทศจีน ไม่ได้เป็นความเห็นของ
MG Motor (เอ็มจี มอเตอร์) แห่งสหราชอาณาจักร เปิดตัวบริการรูปแบบใหม่เพื่อเอาใจลูกค้าผู้ใช้รถยนต์ไฟฟ้าในสหราชอาณาจักร
2021 MG EPNew 2021 MG EP (2021 เอ็มจี อีพี) เปิดตัวอย่างเป็นทางการแล้ว มาพร้อมระบบขับเคลื่อนพลังงานไฟฟ้าชาร์จเต็มหนึ่งครั้งวิ่งได้ไกลประมาณ
ดีกว่ารถทั่วไปอย่างไรข้อดีหลัก ๆ คือ สมรรถนะที่แรงขึ้น จากการทำงานของมอเตอร์ไฟฟ้า ที่เสริมแรงให้กับเครื่องยนต์ MG
HS ตารางราคา 2020 MG HS รุ่นรถ ราคา (บาท) MG HS รุ่น C 919,000 MG HS รุ่น
2021 MG 5 (2021 เอ็มจี 5) เจนเนอเรชั่นใหม่เตรียมเปิดตัวออกจำหน่ายในเร็ว ๆ นี้ หลังมีภาพหลุดจากกระทรวงอุตสาหกรรมของประเทศจีนออกมาให้แฟน
Cat ได้เปิดตัวให้ไทยได้ยลโฉมตัวจริงในงานมอเตอร์โชว์ครั้งที่ 42 โดยเป็นเวอร์ชั่นจีนที่ออกแบบเป็นเก๋ง 5
ค่ายรถยนต์ MG สัญชาติจีนเริ่มต้นบุกเบิกตลาดรถเอสยูวีมาได้สักระยะ ล่าสุดก็เปิดตัว Compact SUV รุ่นล่าสุดอย่าง
แฟนท่อม) ขายในราคา 53.5 ล้านบาท รถซีดานทรงกล่องหลังคาสูงดีไซน์ภายนอกSuzuki Celerio เป็นทรงแฮทช์แบ็ค 5
MG (เอ็มจี) ในปี 2021 วางแผนที่จะทำการเปิดตัวรถยนต์ไฟฟ้ารุ่นใหม่ปลายปีนี้ ในตัวถังแฮทช์แบ็ค 5 ประตู อาจคล้ายกับ
MG (เอ็มจี) แบรนด์รถยนต์น้องใหม่ประเทศไทย ประกาศขึ้นแท่นผู้นำตลาดเอสยูวีในครึ่งแรกของปี 2563 ด้วยยอดจำหน่ายรวม
หลังจาก MG HS รถสไตล์รถครอบครัวจากแบรนด์จีนเปิดตัวก็ได้รับความสนใจล้นหลาม และก็กลายเป็น Compact SUV ที่มียอดขายดีในกลุ่มได้อย่างรวดเร็วด้วยชื่อ
MG HS (เอ็มจี เอชเอส) ถือเป็นรถอเนกประสงค์อีกรุ่นที่ได้รับความนิยมไม่แพ้ MG ZS ของค่ายเอ็มจีเลย ด้วยความโดดเด่นในด้านเทคโนโลยี
แบงค์บอกต่อ เรามาดูโปรโมชั่นรถยนต์น่าสนใจหลายขนาดจากทางฝั่ง MG (เอ็มจี) ที่มีทั้ง 2021 MG ZS (เอ็มจี
และต้องบอกเลยว่า MG กล้าหาญชาญชัยมากที่นำรถกระบะ MG EXTENDER (เอ็มจี เอกซ์เทนเดอร์) เข้ามาขายในประเทศไทย
MG (เอ็มจี) ได้รับรางวัลแบรนด์รถยนต์ที่ความคุ้มค่ายอดเยี่ยม (Best Value Brand 2020) จากการประกาศผลรางวัล
MG V80 (เอ็มจี วี80)เป็นรถตู้โดยสารขนาด 11 ที่นั่งของค่าย MG ที่มีจุดเด่นในการวางเครื่องยนต์ด้านหน้า
ความสำเร็จของรถอเนกประสงค์ค่าย MG ทั้ง MG ZS (เอ็มจี แซดเอส) และ MG HS (เอ็มจี เอชเอส) แสดงให้เห็นว่าค่ายรถยนต์น้องใหม่สามารถโค่นแบรนด์ยักษ์อันเก่าแก่ลงได้หากเดินถูกทางยอดขายสะสมของรถอเนกประสงค์ขนาดซับคอมแพ็กต์อย่าง
2020 MG HS PHEV (เอ็มจี เอชเอส พีเอชอีวี) เปิดตัวอย่างเป็นทางการแล้ว เคาะราคาที่ 1,359,000 บาท โดยจะเป็นรถปลั้กอินไฮบริดรุ่นแรกของ
ความพยายามในการเดินหน้าตลาดรถยนต์ไฟฟ้าในหลายประเทศยังดำเนินการไปอย่างเข้มข้น หนึ่งในนั้นคือเจ้าพ่อรถยนต์ไฟฟ้าอย่าง MG
2020 MG ZS (เอ็มจี แซดเอส) รถเอสยูวีโฉมใหม่ได้รับรองมาตรฐานความปลอดภัยระดับ 5 ดาวจาก Asean NCAP แต่คะแนนการทดสอบยังด้อยกว่า
ในงาน BIG Motor Sale 2020 ค่ายรถยนต์ MG ได้จัดโปรโมชั่นน่าสนใจให้กับรถ SUV ZS และ HS มาแล้ว ล่าสุด MG
ZS New MG ZS รุ่น ราคา (บาท) NEW MG ZS 1.5L C+ 689,000 NEW MG ZS 1.5L D+
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Yes, I was at home in Surrey UK getting ready to go out and funny enough to go and watch a medium that communicates with spirits. Just a couple of hours before we set off, I get the call that changed my life. My brother phones and says, mum just collapsed and they can’t revive her. Mum was just 64 and not suffering from my medical conditions. I knew straight away that my life was never going to be the same again. Not from an emotional point of view, but because mum had 5 kids with me being the eldest. My younger brother who lived with mum and depended on mum because he’s got severe learning difficulties, basically he’s got a mind of an 8 yr old and he was 27 when mum died. The first thought having receiving the call was, oh my god, what about John. Long story short, it’s now 5 1/2 years since mums passing. I travel the 500 mile round trip every 3 weeks (I myself suffer 40% disability, but mines mobility issues after a botched back op 9 yrs ago which also left me living with chronic back pain). I make sure all the bills are paid, the house is clean and tidy, try and learn John something new every visit. I still continue to fight for John to remain in the house through the courts. (Mum had bought the house and was making mortgage payments at the time and was still married but separated for over 7 yrs from her husband Jack. So legally the house should of gone to her estranged husband, hence why I’ve been fighting for John to remain in the property and why all 4 of us kids have given up our share of the house so John can own the house outright). It’s now mortgage free after I used all mums savings to pay off the mortgage, again all 4 of us give up our right for a share in mums savings, so I could pay off the mortgage. I have to make sure John is eating right, checking to see if he’s been walking the streets at 2 in the morning ( which he does from time to time ), making sure he’s not spending all day in bed. Basically making sure he’s kept in check. I do have another brother who lives just round the corner from John, but works strange hours and he does his best to call round at least once every other day. So I have a 101 jobs to do every 3 weeks when I make the journey and because of my mobility issues and chronic pain, I simply have to take umpteen breakthrough pills for my pain ( and suffer withdrawal when I return home because of body dependency) and the chronic pain is bad bad. But I have no choice. We decided a long time ago that John wasn’t going into any residential care and we would fight to keep him out of care and we have managed to do that. Not that it matters, but John isn’t even my full brother. We have the same mum, but not dads. I treat him like a brother and I love him like a brother and I do go to the end of the world and back for him literally. So yes, I have experienced a life changing phone call and 5 1/2 yrs laters I’m still experiencing life changing experiences from that phone call. ( I do have a go fund page set up which hopefully will allow me to travel to America, have the consultations and back surgery that I desperately need to allow me a normal life again. The best Specialists in the UK are still 10 yrs behind the US and having already wasted my 40’s basically living in 1 room lying on a sofa bed day & night and not moving unless I really need to, you can see why I want to be pain free and that will allow me to take John on holidays which he’s not been on for a number of years and take some self pride back and get back into work, which then sorts out my deep depression that I suffer and I can finally stop taking over 20 pills a day. I take 200 mg of OxyContin a day which is one of the highest dosages in the U.K. just to give you an idea of my pain level. If anyone is interested in my Go Fund page please leave a comment and I will get back to you with the info. I have scans, MRIs, CT scans X Rays. I have paperwork from 3 major back Ops and countless appointment correspondence over the 9 yrs since the back surgery but also from 12 yrs ago when I first started with problems with my back. Thanks for reading to the end, it’s appreciated.
That’s like trying to replace all your meals with jello shaped like real food, except that you actually need food to live. If you try to do this, your brother will know he’s not getting the drug and may go looking for the drug somewhere else. Like in a syringe. So please don’t do this.
It sure was. I've posted a few stories already about my dad, a WW II combat veteran. The response was overwhelming, and for those who might be interested, here's another. But first… a little personal history. As I've said before, my dad was a medic in Patton's 3rd Armored Division (the “third herd”, as they called it) in 1942. He did his basic training at Camp Polk, Louisiana; the division also spent some time training for desert warfare in the Mojave desert in California, as their ultimate combat destination was still uncertain at that time. North Africa was a possible assignment, although that never happened. He also trained in England for six or seven months before D-Day. My father was a very quiet, unassuming guy. I think the only reason he talked to me about his wartime experience was because I asked, because I was interested. When I was about..seven or eight years old, perhaps?…I asked my father (as many children did, I suppose), “Dad…what did you do in the war?” And I'll never forget what he told me. “Chris”, he said, “I was an armored medic. We rode in halftracks behind the tanks when they moved forward in an attack. And when a tank got hit, it was our job to run to it and, if possible, get any wounded crew members out and away, before the ammunition or fuel caught fire and blew the tank to pieces. And of course we treated wounded infantry as well.” He also told me that, aside from the red cross brassard he wore on helmet and armband and the knapsack and pouches of bandages, compresses, morphine syrettes, sulfa pills and powder and basic medical instruments he carried, he and the other medics also kept what they called a ‘shank’ on a rope around their necks; it was a heavy iron key that enabled them to unlock a Sherman tank's hatches from the outside, in the event that the crew were wounded or incapacitated and unable to open them from the inside. My dad said all this pretty matter-of-factly, as if just relating events. But even as an eight year-old kid, I was deeply shaken by his reply, because I understood full well what he was saying. It amazed me then, and it still amazes me now. ‘My GOD!’, I remember thinking…‘it's a MIRACLE my dad survived the war and came home!’ And truly…it was. He told me he’d heard the screams of men being incinerated alive, wounded and trapped inside burning Sherman tanks. “Horrible sounds”, he told me. “Screams I'll take with me to the grave. Sometimes, although we tried, you just couldn't get near a knocked out tank. They often went up in flames on the first hit, and the heat was tremendous. I mean it would blister and peel the skin off your face at thirty yards. You just couldn't get near ‘em.” I realized even then that, if what my dad told me was true…and I’m very sure it was…he must've earned the Bronze Star a hundred times over. But he didn't seem to think of it that way; to his own mind, he'd just been doing the job he'd been trained to do. He didn't seem to think there was anything particularly brave or heroic about it…but there is to me. Very much so. My dad was wounded twice in combat, flesh wounds from shrapnel, but turned down the Purple Heart each time because, as he told me; “After we got overseas, there was a guy in our company who got the first Heart. He was a swell guy, we all liked him, and everybody slapped him on the back and shook his hand. But two days later, he bought the farm. So the scuttlebutt in the company was that the Heart was bad luck, a widow-maker. So I said, ‘No thanks’, lol. Also, if you officially reported as wounded and got the Heart, your family got a telegram. And I didn't want to upset my mom or your mother with a telegram, so I turned it down.” My father was most definitely affected by the war. I've pieced together, from things my older siblings have told me (I'm the youngest of four, so I wasn't around when my parents were in the first years of marriage and parenthood) that my dad kind of…had a nervous breakdown when he first returned home from Europe. But it was a quiet one, I think, and my dad just worked through it, I guess. But my older sister once told me that, until she was ten years old, my dad would arise every morning at five a.m., shower, shave and dress for work, and then go to church for twenty or thirty minutes before actually going to work. And she told me she once asked him, “Daddy, why do you go to church every day, instead of just on Sunday with us?” And my dad replied, “Patty…I go to church every day to pray for all the good boys and friends I lost in Europe, and to thank God for bringing me home to your mother safely.” My siblings also told me that my dad would often startle and duck at hearing backfiring exhausts or fireworks or similar noises. I also remember an incident that happened when I was about 13 years old. We lived near a small airport at the time, and one morning some joker pilot in an antique restored biplane thought it would be funny to buzz our neighborhood at 5:30 a.m.. He came screaming straight down over our street and then leveled off, maybe two or three hundred feet above the ground. I awoke to the noise, and then heard a strangled, inarticulate yell up the hall from my parent’s bedroom. There was some physical commotion, a loud BAM! and then a cry of pain. I jumped out of bed and ran to my parent's bedroom. Just as I got there, my mother turned the light on, and I saw my dad on the floor with his head under the bed. My mom had him by the arm, and was shaking my dad and saying, “Howard, wake up! It's okay…you're safe, at home!! Wake up!!” And slowly, my dad stopped trying to burrow under the bed, crawled out from under it and stood up. He was white as a sheet, trembling and with tears in his eyes. “Jesus!”, he said to my mom. “I thought I was back in the war! I thought I was being STRAFED, for God's sakes!!” He also had a hell of a bruise on his forehead, because in his dream-state panic he had tried to dive under the bed and had slammed his head on the bed frame. My mom calmed him down, told me everything was okay and to go back to bed, which I did. But it really freaked me out, because never in my life had I seen my father like that; absolutely terrified. It was a frightening thing for a 13 year-old to see, and it made me realize how the war still lived inside his head. And this was in…1975. Thirty years after that war ended. (Incidentally, my mom called the airport later that morning and pitched a bitch to whoever it was who answered the phone; as did several of our neighbors. That pilot never pulled a stunt like that again, lol. I also remember my mom telling me somewhat dryly later that day; “Your father certainly hasn't lost any of his reflexes. When that plane started to come screaming down, your dad was up and over me like lightning, like an Olympic high jumper, lol. And he was on the floor and under that bed before you could say ‘Jackie Robinson'!”) I'm proud as hell of my dad's service, and of the tiny but vital part he played in freeing the world from a brutal tyranny. He was just one of millions, but he was one of those who did what needed to be done and were there when it mattered. And I realize now that my father was ten times the man I’ll ever be. (And how often I've wished I had told him that when he was still alive…but I didn't have that understanding then, unfortunately). This is the story of the very first casualty my dad ever treated, in his words, as he told it to me; “When we were in basic training at Polk, there was this fella in my outfit who for some reason just didn't like me; I don't know why. I had no problem with him. But he had a problem with me. He was always mocking me, making jokes at my expense and shoving me in line, stuff like that. And one day, when we were assembling for formation, he stuck his foot out as I passed by and tripped me, and I fell flat on my face and everybody laughed at me. Well…I saw red. I really lost my temper and I got up and socked him one good! We started going at it, rolling around on the ground trying to kill each other, lol. Our Top Sargent ran over, grabbed us each by the scruff of our necks, hauled us to our feet and shouted, “Atten-SHUN!!” We both assumed the position. Putting fatherly arms around us, with a malicious, lopsided grin, he crooned; “Soooooo…you boys like to fight, eh? Well, hell, in this man's army we admire fighting spirit! Now I want you two to knock it off, but don't you worry your pretty little heads, ‘cuz we're gonna give you both the chance to really fight, if that's what you like.” And that evening, after chow, instead of returning to the barracks to scrub latrines or clean rifles or pick up every cigarette butt and chewing gum wrapper within 100 yards, they quick-marched us all to the rec hall, which had a boxing ring. After assembling inside, my antagonist and I were called out and up to the front, where the Top had us both strip to the waist, tied boxing gloves on our hands, led us into the ring and said, “Okay, boys… have at it!! Well, we did. I mean we really beat the stew out of each other! After staggering around and walloping the heck out of one another for about fifteen minutes, we stood there huffing and puffing, covered with sweat and sporting bloody noses and fat lips. The Sargent suddenly stepped in, grabbed us each by the wrist and raised our arms. Announcing to the hall that we had each given at least as good as we'd gotten, he declared it a draw and the fight over with. The guys all roared and cheered and laughed. And then he took us both into a corner, and said to us in a low voice; “Now listen up, boys. You're both on the same team. It don't make no fuckin’ sense to be fightin’ each other. Save it for the Krauts….save it for the Krauts. ‘Cuz when you finally get overseas, you'll have more fightin’ on your hands then you'll know what to do with. I guarantee it. So knock this crap off. If I catch you two fighting in the company area again, I'll have you charged with destruction of government property, and you'll both be peelin’ fuckin’ potatoes in the stockade until this war is over. Do we UNDERSTAND each other…GENTLEMEN??” My sparring partner and I wearily nodded assent. And after that, he left me alone and we just avoided one another. And after we shipped out for England, I never really saw him again. After intensive training in Britain for months, we hit Omaha beach two weeks after D-Day. The beachhead had been taken and pretty well established, but it wasn't totally safe yet. On the way in, we saw bodies floating in the water, and smashed helmets and backpacks and all kinds of stuff. When we hit the beach, we were under random artillery occasionally, but nothing real serious. Nothing close. We bivouaced on the beach that night, and began heading inland the next morning. We had made about twenty miles headway when we really came under fire for the first time; small arms, MG 42 fire, and mortars. And it was pretty funny, because that first time under fire, every man in the company…myself included…turned around and ran the other way, lol. You can't help it! Your mind and body suddenly realize that someone over there is actually shooting at you and trying to kill you, and suddenly it’s like your legs have a mind of their own. It's the classic ‘flight’ response. And that's when the Sargents leap up and begin screaming at the top of their lungs; “TURN THE FUCK AROUND right NOW, you YELLOW-BELLIED BASTARDS!! TURN THE HELL AROUND!! What're you…SCARED??! So they're SHOOTIN’ at you; shoot BACK, you GODDAMNED COWARDS!!” LoL. And so you do! You learn to somehow steel yourself and face it. But it sure don't come natural! So the boys started shooting back; but off the roads, in that goddamn hedgerow country, you couldn't even see anyone to shoot at! The Heinies were masters at ground camouflage and were always well dug in, just waiting for us. But every now and then you'd see a bit of muzzle flash, and maybe a little puff of smoke from the recoil mechanism. So the guys would aim at that. And rounds and mortars and shit were zipping and popping all over the place. The firefight had gone on for about five minutes, when for the very first time in combat I heard the cry, “Medic!! MEDIC!!!” I'd heard that cry a thousand times in basic training. But I'd never heard real panic and fear in that cry before; and I was hearing it now. I ran forward. About fifty yards up, by a copse of trees, I saw two dogfaces waving me on, with a casualty lying on the ground between them. Bending low, I ran to them and flopped panting to the ground beside them. It was bad. The soldier on the ground had taken a ribbon of MG 42 rounds right across his chest; four holes about 2 or 3 inches apart. He was in major distress. “Help him! Help him!!”, his buddies said. I tried. I really did. “Get his strap and helmet off”, I told them, “we gotta open up his airway.” They did so. I opened my pouch and took out morphine and compresses. As I tore open his jacket and shirt, I glanced briefly at his face. It was HIM!! My goddamned enemy and boxing partner from basic! I couldn't believe it! But whatever had happened in the past was forgotten now as I struggled to save his life in that French orchard. And Camp Polk, Louisiana seemed a million miles away and a hundred years ago. It was awful. He was fully conscious, and grabbed me by the arms and kept pleading, “Please don't let me die…please don't let me die…please don't let me die!”, over and over and over again in a state of abject terror. “I'm trying to help you, buddy”, I told him. “But you've gotta let go of my arms…you've gotta let me help you, pal”. But he couldn't do that; I literally had to pry his hands off me. I don’t know if he recognized me, but it didn't really matter anyway. He was convulsing and beginning to go into shock. A low, terrible, almost animal moan escaped him; the moan of a mortally wounded human being who knew he was dying. I'll never forget that moan. I still hear it now. Just…anguish and fear. Pure anguish and terror and despair. I'd never even known a sound like that could come out of someone. He began bleeding profusely from the nose and mouth. He gurgled, spasmed and coughed, spraying me with blood and bits of lung tissue. I applied compresses to the wounds, putting all my weight on his chest, and instructed his buddies to do the same, as I didn't have enough hands to treat all four wounds simultaneously. But it was hopeless. We’d staunch the bleeding in two wounds, go on to the next two and the first two would gush blood again. Within six or seven minutes, he simply bled out and died in my arms, his eyes wide with terror. I knew I'd done the best I could, but I felt like shit anyway. I was soaked and spattered with dried blood and gore. I felt sick. Just sick, in heart and stomach. I was only nineteen years old; I'd never seen anybody die before. And it really hit me for the very first time that this wasn't a game anymore, this wasn't maneuvers. This was real war, and I suddenly understood that there was a very real and present chance I'd never come home from Europe alive. Let me tell you, my boy…I really got religion that day. I mean I'd been raised religious and went to church and all that, but it had never really meant anything to me. But that changed. And I made some promises to God that day, believe you me. But he was just the first of dozens and dozens of men who would die in my arms, writhing and screaming and shrieking as they gave up their lives. It was a terrible thing. And a lot of good, decent boys died in that miserable war. Boys who wanted to grow up and live. I watched them die. And don't you ever forget that, son.” Rest In Peace, Dad. Because I'll NEVER forget that.
Some people would sniff finger nail cuttings if they thought it would get them high. Xanax, meant to say xanax, white, half an inch long with the xanax stamp raised are doing the rounds in my town and they're meant to be the dogs. What mg are the ones I described ?, or are the xa n ax standard regardless ? Sorry OP, it's a waste, I used to sniff anything from glue (11 yrs old), to Cola when I was a big boy But benzos, as a pill it is criminal to stick it up your nose, Total waste. Seriously, swallow Most pills, as that's the only way you will feel the effects. There are pills out there like *&5-te* are really good up the nose and you get wasted, but sadly you will waste your ‘bar’ sniffing it, good luck
#1 I'm a hard stick. #2 I know my body, and I'm not like anyone else, so traditional methodology doesn't work for me. 499 mg/dl blood glucose is “normal” for me. #3 You better take care of my family member or (insert not so obscure threat) - This one is extremely offensive to care givers for a multitude of reasons. Not to mention a potential felony. #4 I don't have any medical issues except diabetes, heart disease, kidney failure, arthritis, polio, HIV, Hepatitis A-Z, 3 by-pass surgeries, GERD, and herpes. #5 I take that little round white pill, but I don't remember what it's called, or why the doctor prescribed it. #6 I stopped taking my blood pressure medicine because my pressure was always normal, I don't know why it's 219/110 today. Can I have something for my headache? #7 (When asking for relevant medical history) I can't remember if that toenail surgery was in April or May of 1985. I'll call my wife she remembers. It was May, but I can't remember if it was the 14th or 15th of May, I'll call her again. - Oh, it's no trouble it'll just be a minute.- No honey it was after pooky the poodle lost his hair so it couldn't have been the 15th… are you sure? No Sam stubbed his toe the day after that… honey, I think my nurse just fell asleep. #8 I'm personal friends with the director, the manager, the doctor, and the administrator. #9 I'm a non-smoker/non-drinker. I quit yesterday at 10pm. #10 I've been waiting for 30 minutes, what were you doing?
มีที่ปรับระดับกระจกมองข้างและรุ่นย่อยของMG 5 ได้แก่อ่านเพิ่มเติม
มีกล่องอิเล็กทรอนิกส์ที่ควบคุมการทำงานของรถยนต์และรุ่นย่อยของMG 5 ได้แก่อ่านเพิ่มเติม
มีขนาดล้ออัลลอยและรุ่นย่อยของMG 5 ได้แก่อ่านเพิ่มเติม