....oh man! Get a load of this! (I know, I know.....wrong forum, but I am really pround of my photoshopped pic, and the story is GREAT! If you've never read it, enjoy!)
I borrowed my friend's Geo Metro last night. One liter of raw power, 3 cylinders of asphalt-tearing terror on 13-inch rims. It's stock, all right, nothing done to it, but it pushes the barely 2000 pounds of Metro around with AUTHORITY. It's easy to catch mopeds and 18-wheelers by surprise...
I was headed back from Starbucks 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 from my upper lip. Yes, I was minding my own business when I heard a "rev" from the next lane. I turned, made eye contact, and 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 blipped my gloves and slipped on my sunglasses, 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 poured from my right front tire... my unlimited slip differential was letting me down! Out of the corner of my eye, I saw the yellow snout gaining and heard the roar of his four cylinders. He slung by me - right front wheel juddering against the pavement - and flashed me a smile as his extra .7 liters of motor stretched its legs. I kept my foot gamely in it, though, waiting for the CHECK ENGINE light to blink on the one-gauge (no tachometer here!) instrument panel. I saw a glimpse of chrome under his bumper, and instantly knew the ugly truth... He was running a custom exhaust - probably a 2-into-1 ceramic coated dual exhaust... maybe even cutouts! The old lady passing us on the sidewalk cast a dirty look in our boy-racer direction...
Still I persisted, with my three pumping pistons singing a heady high-pitched song, wound fully out. Though only a handful of seconds had passed, we were nearing the crosswalk on the other side of the intersection. I heard the note of his engine change as he made the shift into second, and I saw his grin in his rearview mirror fade as he missed the shift! I rocketed by him, shifting to second, while nursing the clutch to keep from bogging down, trailing a cloud of 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 living things within a five-foot radius. 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-inch 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 fast lane and kept my foot buried in the carpet. Slowly, I inched around him, feeling the Metro roll slowly to the left as I came abreast him in the middle 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 steering wheel in rage as my trusty steed eased past him on the outside. The P165/75R13's were 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 Festiva meekly flipped his turn signal on and made a right turn. Chevy (Suzuki) superiority reigns!
I drove off sipping my cappuccino, awash in sheer masculine virility, looking for other unwitting targets... Perhaps a Yugo, or maybe even a Volkswagen Van!
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