I'd like to say, firstly, that I wouldn't -really- call this a kill, maybe just a satisfying humbling.
I'm driving along in the 81, four lane road and all, you know, plenty of room. I'm in the left lane, minding my own business in fifth gear at about 2k, when I look up and see headlights behind me, coming up fast. So, fine, I shift over to the right lane and keep mosying on along. Looking in my rear view, I can see the flash of a Benz logo atop a menacing chrome grille, and a clean white E-class pulls up beside me. I kind of look over, admiringly, and note the exceptionally douchebaggy twenty-something in the driver's seat. He's pulling past me doing an exceptionally silly speed.
Fine, maybe he's being dangerous and I shouldn't encourage him, but we've just recently put this car back together, and I missed it. Clutch in, third gear, rev match, and hammer it. Catching up slowly, slowly, 2500 RPM, little bit closer, 3k, and that's it. Head back into the headrest, the car is propelled forward with the might of full boost on that giant snail of a turbo seated next to the bedraggled old 5M-E. Back in fifth gear, I pull up beside him matching speed, and look over with a sickeningly sweet smile. Bear in mind, this guy is the ultimate in prep-douche, driving an AMG probably paid for by the family 'business.' Bear in mind, also, that I am an exceptionally scrawny, effeminate white boy, driving a POS-looking old mk1. I wave.
He doesn't seem amused, and hits it. Being as I'm already revving 3500 or so, I floor the throttle and the turbo is already spooled. We pull up to a red light. My car, vacuum leaks abound, idles as bad as it looks. He tries not to look, not to wonder, but my constant staring has him caught sneaking glances out of the corner of his eye. The light turns green, and he takes off just like he would've before, that same reckless abandon, in that white chariot that costs more than everything I own, squared. I definitely don't pin it, being as I'm somewhat afraid that the oilpan is just going to fall off or something, but I don't let him get away from me completely, either. I've all but given up, having long since proved my point, but damned if I didn't miss boost, and so I can't resist a good third gear 5k pull. Glowing, smiling to myself like I've just signed a six figure contract and am going home to an orgy of supermodels, I take my turnoff, and lope the car home.
I missed you, bitch.
She's also for sale. Someone please give her a loving home.
I'm driving along in the 81, four lane road and all, you know, plenty of room. I'm in the left lane, minding my own business in fifth gear at about 2k, when I look up and see headlights behind me, coming up fast. So, fine, I shift over to the right lane and keep mosying on along. Looking in my rear view, I can see the flash of a Benz logo atop a menacing chrome grille, and a clean white E-class pulls up beside me. I kind of look over, admiringly, and note the exceptionally douchebaggy twenty-something in the driver's seat. He's pulling past me doing an exceptionally silly speed.
Fine, maybe he's being dangerous and I shouldn't encourage him, but we've just recently put this car back together, and I missed it. Clutch in, third gear, rev match, and hammer it. Catching up slowly, slowly, 2500 RPM, little bit closer, 3k, and that's it. Head back into the headrest, the car is propelled forward with the might of full boost on that giant snail of a turbo seated next to the bedraggled old 5M-E. Back in fifth gear, I pull up beside him matching speed, and look over with a sickeningly sweet smile. Bear in mind, this guy is the ultimate in prep-douche, driving an AMG probably paid for by the family 'business.' Bear in mind, also, that I am an exceptionally scrawny, effeminate white boy, driving a POS-looking old mk1. I wave.
He doesn't seem amused, and hits it. Being as I'm already revving 3500 or so, I floor the throttle and the turbo is already spooled. We pull up to a red light. My car, vacuum leaks abound, idles as bad as it looks. He tries not to look, not to wonder, but my constant staring has him caught sneaking glances out of the corner of his eye. The light turns green, and he takes off just like he would've before, that same reckless abandon, in that white chariot that costs more than everything I own, squared. I definitely don't pin it, being as I'm somewhat afraid that the oilpan is just going to fall off or something, but I don't let him get away from me completely, either. I've all but given up, having long since proved my point, but damned if I didn't miss boost, and so I can't resist a good third gear 5k pull. Glowing, smiling to myself like I've just signed a six figure contract and am going home to an orgy of supermodels, I take my turnoff, and lope the car home.
I missed you, bitch.
She's also for sale. Someone please give her a loving home.
