Small car joke(WOB, LONG, funny!)

[Daniel David Ayd <Daniel.D.Ayd-1@xxxxxxxxxx>]

Actually, I didn't do this, someone sent it to me...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!

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