Thanks for the good laugh Wayne. Merry Christmas Everybody and a Happy New Year too! Burt -----Original Message----- From: Wayne Graefen <wgraefen@OMNIGLOBAL.NET> To: L-FORWARDLOOK@LISTS.PSU.EDU <L-FORWARDLOOK@LISTS.PSU.EDU> Date: Wednesday, December 22, 1999 10:29 PM Subject: [FWDLK] Hot Rodding in the New Millennium > Here's one that all max cube macho Moparites will enjoy! >(Thanks, Brian) > __________________________________________ > > Since my '60 Chrysler 300F was in the shop, 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"), when I stopped at a streetlight. > > As the Metro throbbed its throaty idle around me, I sipped > my bold beverage and wiped the white froth 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 schoolbus-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 event cutouts! Damn his > hot-rod soul! The old lady passing us on the crosswalk 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 I 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! > |