LOL , ROFLMAO GOOD ONE
ARNOLD
----- Original Message -----
From: "Crit Bennett" <crit@engineer.com>
To: <dakota-truck@BUFFNET.NET>
Sent: Monday, April 02, 2001 10:51 PM
Subject: DML: In a Ricer's own words...
> Well crap, I'm a repeat offender. At least this one has a shred of
on-topic
> dignity. Here goes.
>
> I borrowed my wife's Geo Metro last night. One liter of raw power, 3
> cylinders of asphalt-tearing terror on thirteen-inch rims. It's stock,
> alright, nothing done to it, but it pushes the barely 2000 pounds of Metro
> around with AUTHORITY. I'm always catching mopeds and 18-wheelers by
> surprise.
>
> I was headed back from Baskin Robbins with my manly triple-latte
cappuccino
> blast ("No Cinnamon, ma'am, I take it BLACK"), then I stopped at a
> streetlight. As the Metro throbbed its throaty idle around me, I sipped my
> bold beverage and wiped the white froth from my stiff upper lip. I was
> minding my own business, but then I heard a rev from the next lane. I
> turned, made
> eye contact, then let my eyes trace over the competition. Ford Festiva --a
> late model, could be trouble. Low profile tires, curb feelers, and school
> bus-yellow paint. Yep, a hot rod, for sure. The howl of his motor snapped
my
> reverie, and I looked back into the driver's eyes, nodded, then blipped my
> own throttle.
>
> As I tugged on my driving gloves and slipped on my sunglasses (gotta look
> cool to be fast, and I am *damn*cool, hence...), the night was split with
> the sound of seven screaming cylinders... Then the light turned... I
almost
> had him out of the hole, my three pounding cylinders thrusting me at
least
> a millimeter back into my seat, as smoke pouring from my front right
tire...
> my unlimited slip differential was letting me down! I saw in the corner of
> my eyes, a yellow snout gaining, and I heard the roar of his four
cylinders.
> He slung by me, right front wheel juddering against the pavement, and he
> flashed me a smile as his .7 extra liters of motor stretched its legs. I
> kept my foot gamely in it, though, waiting for the CHECK ENGINE light to
> blink on in the one-gauge (no tachometer here!) instrument panel. I saw a
> glimpse of chrome under his bumper, and knew the ugly truth...He was
running
> a custom exhaust -- probably a 2-into-1 dual exhaust... maybe even
cutouts!
> Damn his hot-rod soul! The old lady passing us on the electric powered
> three-wheeler cast a dirty look in our boy-racer direction... Yet still I
> persisted, with my three pumping pistons singing a heady high-pitched
song,
> wound fully out. Though only a few handfuls of seconds had passed, we were
> nearing the crosswalk at the other side of the intersection, and heard the
> note of his engine change as he made his shift to second, and I saw his
grin
> in his rearview mirror fade as he missed the shift!
>
> I rocketed by, shifting, and nursed the clutch gently in to keep from
> bogging, keeping my motor spinning hot and pulling me ahead, now trailing
a
> cloud of stinking clutch smoke. Not ready to give up so easily, he left
his
> foot in it, revving, and I heard one wheel *almost* chirp as he finally
> found second and dropped the clutch. We careened over the crosswalk, now
> going at least 15 miles per hour. A bicyclist passed us, but intent on the
> race as we were, neither of us batted an eye. He pulled slowly abreast of
> me, and neck and neck, we made the shift to third, the scream of motors
> deafening all pedestrians within a five foot circle. He nosed ahead as we
> passed 30 miles an hour, then eased in front of me, taunting, as we
shifted
> into fourth. I was staring up the dual 6" chrome tips of his exhaust,
> snarling, my cappuccino forgotten, as he lifted a little to take the next
> corner. I saw my opportunity, and counting on the innate agility of my
> trusty steed, I pulled wide into the number two lane and kept my foot
buried
> in carpet. Slowly, I inched around him, feeling my Metro roll slowly to
the
> left as I came abreast in the midst of this gradual sweeping turn. I felt
> the Geo ease onto its suspension stops, and felt the right rear wheel
slowly
> leave the ground - no matter, though, because my drive wheels, up front,
> were pulling me through the corner, and around the Festiva .The Ford
driver
> beat his wheel in rage as my wife's car eased past him on the outside, my
> P165/54R13's screaming in protest, as we raced to the next light. We
coasted
> down, neck-and neck, to the red light. I tightened my driving gloves,
ready
> for another round, when this WIMP in the next car meekly flipped his turn
> signal and made a right. Chevy (Suzuki) superiority reigns!!! I drove off
> sipping my masculine drink, awash in my sheer virility, looking for other
> unwitting targets.... Perhaps a Yugo, or maybe even a Volkswagon Van!
> _________________________________________________________________
>
>
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