> my amazing
> supercomputer-like brain computes the precise gear I should be in as I push
> in the clutch, and bring up the rpm's. Biceps rippling, I slam the stick
> into
> the proper gear and the clutch is already on its way back up. The power
> kicks
> in like a JATO rocket burrowing into my chest. My radar detector tears off
> the
> windshield with an unholy shriek and smashes through the rear window. The
> tires
> smoke, the front end raises 3 feet, the asphault wrinkles as it bleeds molten
> rubber, and I'm screamin' down the road executing the remaining shifts with
> perfect timing and precision. Babies cry, men cringe in fear, and women
> stare
> adoringly. In mere seconds, I dissapear over the horizon and become nothing
> more than a memory. The local elders will pass the legend of the manual
> tranny
> down through the generations. It is said that one day this warrior will
> return
> to free the world of the tyranny of the auto trannies forever. (Editors
> note:
> the preceding paragraph may have contained slight dramatization.)
>
>
> > AND ya don't need a
> short
> >shifter :-) the only thing the auto doesn't do for me is help my terrible
> >reaction times :-)
>
> Heh heh heh! And I'd like to keep it that way, if possible. ;-)
>
>
> -Jon-
>
Ah...you gotta love the 5 speed, the sweethearts and girlfriends sure
do! Course if you don't have one, you can always go by McDonalds.
GS -
This archive was generated by hypermail 2b29 : Fri Jun 20 2003 - 12:10:40 EDT