....and we should worry about the NJ governor.......
-----Original Message-----
From: Wayne Graefen <wgraefen@OMNIGLOBAL.NET>
To: L-FORWARDLOOK@LISTS.PSU.EDU <L-FORWARDLOOK@LISTS.PSU.EDU>
Date: Wednesday, December 22, 1999 8:31 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!
>
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