FLeXNuTZ

Lol, I can't believe this thing is 8 pages long. Will they ever race?

slowmofo

iTrader: (6)

LAMO!! I rememebr that crap.... Damn this thread is still alive someone kill it please.

wickedwarlock

iTrader: (4)

now that's real good!

Ghostriderr

"I uh..ummmm...had to stop and buy a new tire gauge. I left my other one at my...frrrriends...house. He wasn't at home soooo I.....had to stop and buy a new one. I always check my tire pressure before long drives and uhhh... any race. A couple of pounds off in the back can mess up...my launch. Spin like like hell unky Herb. And plus gas is expensive. Don't won't to waste gas now a days. Proper tire inflation and all that."

And then uncle Herb says "So check yer tars already and let's get r done. I ran out of Marlboros on the way here" as the smell of 110 octane wafted from his exhaust pipe. That is when I noticed a pack of cigs rolled into the left sleeve of my uncle's white crew neck t-shirt, just above the tatto of his infantry unit emblem. I knew he wasn't out of Camel filterless, he was just trying to rush me, so that I would make a mistake. Savy old dog of a street racer. I had to stall. He was in his zone and I needed to cool him. Mess up his mentle game. I had my idea. Time to put it into play. I sauntered toward the rear hatch that holds the empty nitrous bottle and turn my head back and say "Ya know unkie Herb..." "Are ya tryin' to stall or somethin'? Check the d@mn pressure and let's go, for some Civics show up. I don't want to have to save you from their revin'. And if you wasn't my baby sisters boy I might just leave you to them." That is when I realized my uncle's time in prison, and then the war... and then prison again made him bitter and jaded. I also wished I had told someone where I was going and who I would be with. Guarding your *** against rape in prison meant constant vigilance. Playing this game on the street was like a vacation for him. My mind raced for another tactic...was that a six point cage and a harness? That wasn't there before.

Ghostriderr

What tha' hell have I gotten myself into? I pop the rear hatch and start fiddling around with my bottle. Tapping it with the keys while pretending to search for my new tire pressure gauge. Hoping the while that he would here the 'tink, tink, tink' of my keys and wonder what was up in the rear hatch. "Git yur ***** outta yur hand and hurry up. Yur stallin' like yur warrin' a wire and waitin' fer backup. Heyyy! You ain't warrin' a wire are you? So help me if you are....I ain't goin back...."

"Unkie Herb...I....don't know what you're talking about but if you want to, we can do this some other time. {to self: and I can make up another excuse to the guys on the forum.}" Blood being blood, Herb nodded, believing my story. Then, like a turboed Z06 on slicks, he jumps on me, grabbing me by the shirt collar with one hand and moving my empty gym bag with the other. He sees my nitrous bottle and now understands the tapping I was doing. "You were just tryin' to psyche me out, weren't ya? Good play" He releases me, pulls a cig I hadn't noticed before from behind his ear and lights up. "Frum da sound of thangs and the panzie way you been actin', I knew ya either went or you didn't realize the shop would be closed and yur all out of nawwws" he says making quote signs with his fingers as the ricer slang 'nawwws' sarcastically rolls from his mouth. "Maybe yur momma was right fur keepin' you after all" he utters as he slaps me on my shoulder with his hand, Zippo lighter still in his palm. 'Ouch' I think to myself. He turns and saunters toward his vehicle...is that a fiberglass cowl hood? Was it like that before? Why is it 5 inches high? Before popping his trunk, he say's, "It's okay. I gots a spare bottle that's full wid me." He walks the bottle back to me, I havn't moved and inch since the slap, he puts the full bottle in my hands, and then procedes to remove my empty bottle and place it in his trunk. He looks at me again and says "Git r done. Haw, haw, haw." I slowly, very slowly, start installing the bottle, realizing the race could be stalled....no longer.

mattkimsey

Damn, I read the first page and thought I'd hear a conclusion by the 8th....I want my time back!!

blkbird_WS-6

iTrader: (14)

I know it's pathetic, I want this to happen just as bad as the rest of you. I'll be honest...I doubt this race will happen anytime soon because it's about time for him to "put the car up for the year".

Sorry.

ls1-ss

iTrader: (1)

I'm sorry blkbrd but I think your uncle is a chicken **** *****. Sounds just like so many of the guys in my area that have old muscle cars they give the new cars no respect and think theirs are the greastest. Don't get me wrong I love the old muscle cars and they all get my respect just don't **** on my ride cause it's not from the 60's. I had one guy come up to me at a gas station and ask my why I had a roll cage in the car, when I told him why he just looked at me and said " I doubt that will run anywhere near 11's". I responded by saying it will probablly run low 12's very high 11's as it sits and with the old engine and supercharger combo it made 635rwhp and went tens @ 130 mph, thats why the roll cage is there. Funny thing is is he has a 66 chevelle vert with a 502 that runs in the 11's so he should have known that in a modded vert you need a roll cage if you a 13.49 or faster not if you run 11.49 or faster. What a douche bag. Sorry for the rant.

72ChevelleConv.LS1

iTrader: (5)

Tha only reason your car exsists is cuz muscle cars were so popular form mid 60s through early 70s. Their wasn't a chance to go fast from mid 70s till reasent years. I think you have a good chance of winning but don't forget your blood line.

slowmofo

iTrader: (6)

Ghostriderr you rock!! lol man thats funny ****...

aaron653

iTrader: (1)

no race yet?

El Tiviris

Ghostriderr You would make a great Novel writter.haha. good **** that was funny. I felt left out when i saw all the people posting. So... Is there going to be a race???

KB99WS6

iTrader: (6)

Hopefully he's ok. I'm thinking maybe they got into a huge fight and his nutty uncle popped a cap in his ***.

02WS6Bird

iTrader: (2)

When you race come tell us don't have us anticipate it, or get anxious over waiting. I don't mean to sound like an *** but i've followed this thread for a long time- Someone like it up and then wait for this guy to get a real thread going

Ghostriderr

Before finishing the install of the nitrous bottle, I glanced at Herb as he put his helmet back on and was just beginning to chain his next cig. from the rolled pack in his shirt sleeve, the one he was currently burning, only half done. Marlboros, of which he had ran out, were his casual everyday smokes. This is what he could be found with at family BBQs, block parties, picknics, Walmart, and weddings. You know, casual stuff on weekends. Aunt Tammy made him smoke Marlboro lights when inside the house or around her children from her first, third, and fourth marriages. This carried over to work too and the lights became his weekday smoke. The standard reds were his weekend smokes because this meant taking it up a notch for serious relaxation. A pack of std Reds could pull him out of the zone. For some very serious relaxation, like the time the neighbors dog jumped onto the side of his lift kitted '78 blazer and scratched the paint, he ripped the filter off a freshly lit Red, while watching the poor beast die from the fresh gut shot. It happened so quickly, I thought for a long time that he must have lit the cig with the same 44 caliber bullet as he fired it from his hip. If I could get a pack of Reds or even one precious stick of that sweet tobacco and remove the filter, I could shake him. Camel filterless were his 'serus bidness' smokes. Racing, fighting, hooking up with a hot bar fly or "non-relaxational" target practice, they were his prime choice. He barely went through a carton of camels a year, cept that year he suspected aunt Tammy was going to leave him for her second husband, Bill. Cousin Bill just took off and never came back. I wonder

By the time I finished installing the bottle and rechecking it, Herb was sitting Dukes of Hazzard style on his drivers door, legs inside the car, wearing his open faced helmet, signature Dale Earnhardt gargoyle glasses shining in the sun, the fresher of the two cigs hanging from the scarred side of his lips (note: beer bottle scar in a bar fight) and the still burning older cig, quickly extinguishing on his tongue and being tucked into his lower lip like a fresh dip of Skoal, which aunt Tammy wouldn't let him do anymore cause it was 'nasty'. "No more excuses or stallin'. Crank 'er up. I'm gunna enjoy rapin' that **** & a$$ ride of yers. TA git it? **** & a$$. Har har." He slides into his car and turns the ignition....is that a high pressure electric fuel pump I hear humming? The car fires with that sudden, unmistakeable, and confident start that only fuel injection can provide. I knew Herb's pizza delivery business was doing realy well, but this was rediculous. My hand touches the TA's door handle has he blips the throttle...Honk...Honk....Honk...my cars vibration alarm goes off. I quickly turn it off with the key fob and unlock the doors, nervously looking at this monster I previously thought would be an easy kill. {What am I going to tell the guys on the forum? I'm gonna get slammed if I lose.}

I fire up the TA and roll behind Herb as he slowly pulls to a neon spray painted line on the old, but solid asphault. The line was placed there by other racers and he instinctively seems to know just where to go on this old deserted stretch of airport road. My homefield advantage confidence is no more. He waves me up next to him. He on the left, me on the right. I roll up and stare down toward the symbolic finish line, used by untold numbers before us, the old airport entrance wind sock on a pole. Last measured at 3/4 of a mile away.

And then a moment of clarity. 3/4 of a mile would really draw on the aero dynamics and top end ability of the vehicles being raced. I had the aero advantage and modern stability with a strong top end rush. What kind of tranny did Herb have again? Was it a Powerglide? Memories creep back into my mind, "Boy, hand me dat box o' tools. I got to finish this blower install b'fer the tranny shop gits my Jericho delivered." What the hell? My mind had to be playing tricks on me now. With a glide and some 4.56s out back, I got a shot at this. Even a 3 speed if he is geared for the 1/8 mile would give me a fighting chance. I might be saved on the forum yet....

Ghostriderr

I still needed to distract him to give me a better chance. A flash of brilliance hits as I press the brake to stop dead even with him on the strip. A little more chatter and then to act..."Herb, I'd like to negotiate an advantage. I want 5 cars and the start. You've got so much done to your car and all, I ..." "Boy, I'd swear you were a little if I didn't know better. We go frum a dead even start. But I'll let you start the race. Just remember my one rule fer street racin', ya' git caught by the pigs, ya' keep yer mouf shut or else. Got that?" I nod in stunned disbelief wishing that the cig in his mouth would drop and catch his interior on fire. Him just giving me the start, I would take it and roll. Actually he would ignore the fire, race to the finish, and then put the fire out with his case of Millers in the back seat. Don't even have to see them. I just know they are there. I had witnessed what he meant by 'or else' twice before in my life. Once behind a grocery store and the other time outside the local post office. 'Or else' was not pretty and changed the way I viewed a pipe wrench forever. Street racing being holy in these parts, 'or else' was probably cranked up a few notches higher than the shopping cart ding and 'no shirt, no shoes, no postal service' incidents.

"Quit yer day dreamin' about Jeff Gordon and hit it." Go time. My plan is simple and as old as the hills around Mayberry, N.C.. I purge the nitrous at the same time I push the shifter into reverse. I slowly let out on the clutch, the car starts to roll backwards and I ease the brake toward the floor. "Hey unkie Herb, what's the deal creapin' forward? I got the start. You're not worried are you?" He looks over at the ram air nostrils on my hood since my movement backwards has placed my out of line of sight. I ease the car forward, driver to driver and ask "Is your line lock not working or something? You creeped forward a good three feet." Confused Herb responds "I'm just sitting on the brake. I hadn't even brought the revs up to launch...." Before Uncle Herbert finishes his thought, I'm tached, engaged and the drag radials are biting. My launch is perfect and harder than when I was 15 and stumbled across uncle Herbs issues of Penthouse and Cherry. I yank 2nd gear as the tach passes 6 grand and quickly check the side view mirror. The front end of my nemesis still sits level. No smoke, no sign of movement, stick a fork in him, he is done. I imagine the Camel, falling from his open mouth as he strains his eyes to make out my shrinking license plate. All is fair is street racing. My eyes dart back to the stretch of road in front of me and then back to my opponent. I notice what must be movement but my sideview shakes to much to make out details. He is definitely chasing by now. I ease just over the center as I hit third. A little less room in their lane will often make a hard charging opponent slow. I check the mirror again and can tell that he is gaining. As long as I'm ahead by fifth gear, I'm golden. A quick glance at the instruments confirms all is well and I'm set for a victory. I yank fourth and with no sign of being passed, I feel victory is at hand. No sign of Herb in the sideview.

Well north of 110 mph and over a 1/4 mile distance from the start, I may not even have enough room to hit fifth and still no visual in the side view. I check the rear view, nothing. Then I hear a strange noise coming from my passenger side rear wheel. Oh crap. Am I losing a bearing? This thought quickly leaves my mind as Herb's 'rocket' flies past me on my passenger side. Herb is hanging out the window flying me the bird. His car's is actually passing me with his passenger side in the weeds and dirt at over 140 mph. I stay in hit hoping he will break something or lose control and wreck, flipping his car and killing him in the process so as not to spread the news of my humiliating defeat around town {and espeicially not on the LS1 forum}. He crosses the finish two bus lengths ahead of me. He actually stops so hard I have to steer around him and come to a rest 100 ft ahead of him. I can't even get a ricer fly by on him. He removes helmet, chains a new camel (which I believe he started removing from his shirts sleeve as he passed me) and pops a top from that case in his back seat. I take off, fighting back tears to no avail. Stop it. Stop crying. I just cleaned the leather. My gut is turning like I just got a speeding ticket for 40 over in a school zone.

I need to get home and figure out what to tell the guys. Need a really good story. Maybe I burnt my clutch up again? No. One of Herb's slicks went flat. No time to fix. And he is about to put the car up for the winter. Yeah.....that'll keep 'em hanging on until next year. Then they will forget and the thread will slowly die out. I'm off the hook. Unless some smart a$$ newbie keeps it alive by make $hit up. No one could ever be that creative and everyone will be too pissed to do anything after reading all those pages with no money shot. I'm safe afterall. But no more threads until I actually race, vid, and win. Can't let this happen again.

From Herb's perspective: Nephew'd been talkin' smack bout my ride. Makin' excuses not to actually run'em. Set up a time and place and finally got 'em to show. Had to threaten to tell his mom 'bout the time I caught 'em ruinin' my **** mags. I even brought along and extra bottle and a trunk full of tools so he wouldn't make excuses. Cheated on the start, just like I showed 'em, still killed 'em. Made it home to catch the end of the race. The three car woulda' won it and showed those panzies how to drive. May he RIP.

ATx 02 TA

haha that was great

GuitsBoy

iTrader: (4)

And there's the reason I stayed subscribed. Way better read than the actual race will be, im sure...

ActionJack

That was some good writing Ghostriderr.

Ghostriderr

Just writing what I know......

That is kinda' sad.