RE: Vrrrrooooooooommmmm?

["Eppinger.Michael" <Eppinger.Michael@domain.elided>]

This was the funniest thing I have seen in a while.  My coworkers thought I
was having a breakdown, cause I was laughing so hard at it.  I had to
forward it to quite a lot of people.

Epp

> -----Original Message-----
> From:	Peter F. Ferris [SMTP:pferris@domain.elided]
> Sent:	Thursday, December 10, 1998 7:49 PM
> To:	ihc-digest@domain.elided
> Subject:	Vrrrrooooooooommmmm?
> 
>  A friend, (not a four-wheeler or product loyalist) past this on to me.
>  Enjoy...
>  
> 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 even 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!
> 
> Some replies:
> Don't make me take the car cover off my 88 Subaru Justy. a 135 cubic
> inch beast with 3 cylinders, 90 HP and 4WD to boot!!
> 
> On Wed, 09 Dec 1998 17:18:59 -1000, Spydaman
> <spydamanNOSPAM@domain.elided wrote:
> 
> Me and my diesel Rabbit will take you and your Geo on, any day of the
> week, as long as there are no hills (I have 5 on the floor but don't
> know what the last 2 are for).
>                                                            Spy in Hawaii
> 
> %%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%
> 
> Cheers,
> 
> 
> --Pete
> 
> 
> 1972 T-All, 1010 345.  Needs motor mounts, oil pump, belts, hoses,
> battery,
> vital fluids, etc. "But the hard part is behind me..." :-)
> 
>