Friday, August 31, 2012

Why Should Luxury Cars be RWD?

You are already feeling rage, it is overflowing.  The most common criticism against companies like Lincoln and Audi are that their luxury offerings are almost entirely FWD based which makes them worse for some reason.  But nobody can ever give a legitimate reason why luxury cars are supposed to be RWD instead of being FWD and most of all ignore the fact that Lincolns and Audis tend to be AWD which is highly considered to be superior to RWD by the average consumer.  So why are Lincolns and Audis considered inferior to RWD luxury boats?

When the Cadillac XTS was released it was yelled at.  Even though it was drastically superior in design to the CTS that was designed with a straight edge it was "not deserving of being a Cadillac flagship" because "IT DRIVES THE FRONT WHEELS!  GRRRRAGE!"  WTF.  Because the XTS is going to compete in GT racing?  It's a boat designed for your grandparents and Deq.  It will barely exceed 20 miles per hour most of the time.  There is no reason for it to be RWD.  However having it be FWD based makes it 1000 times easier to make it AWD if GM chooses to.  Grandma and Grandpa see that it has AWD and thinks it will be good in the Winter.  Sale won, Grandpa doesn't buy a Lexus.  Same with the MKS and MKZ.  The Town Car was RWD.  The MKS can drive circles around it.  Was the Town Car superior because it wasn't FWD based?  No, the Town Car sucked.  Sorry Deq.  MKS Ecoboost will make Grandpa shit himself.  The MKZ is almost orgasm inducing in its design and makes every single Cadillac look like a total piece of crap but its supposedly inferior because the engine sits horizontally underhood.  Nope.  You are having so much rage right now because you just realized that the only reason that you think luxury cars should be RWD is because that's the way Lexus does it because that's the way that BMW and Mercedes do it.  You're a conformist and a drive wheel snob.

Let's look at the facts.  Big luxury boats don't need a lot of power; maybe mid 300s at the highest.  In a two ton vehicle that is completely managable through the front wheels and is especially managable through all four wheels.  They're big and their owners are not going to be ripping through canyon roads or going to the local track with them so they don't need to handle.  Good stability and predictability in bad weather are important things for the target ownership group so having power to the front wheels is desirable.  The first time the rear comes out on granny she's going to sell it.  So why exactly does a luxury car need RWD?  You only have one card that you can play and its hubris.  Mad?

Now to really make your rage overflow.  RWD is inferior.  Oh damn, you just exploded.  It adds weight, it makes a car unpredictable and hard to drive and saps power.  YOUR RAGE!  I'm sorry.  A vehicle below 300 horsepower is better with FWD.  Sorry again, I'm really not trying to kill you but at this point your blood pressure must be over 200.

Cadillac built the XTS because they know from the 90s that Grandpa prefers FWD.  Sorry.

Thursday, August 30, 2012

The Slow and The Tedious Part 4

Later, after the race, J Foo and his gang left somewhere, Joe saw J Foo’s sister trying to plead with them but they took off with him anyways.
Joe approached J Foo’s sister, “What the hell was that all about?”
J Foo’s sister said, “J Foo has been working for a drug cartel supplying fresh kittens for huffing, that’s where he got all that money to use to upgrade his car, and now they expect him to find the unhuffable kitten, and I’m sure he’ll get killed.”
“And his car was still that slow?  DAMN!”  Joe said, “I guess I’ll have to stop them then.”
“You can’t Joe, you are too slow,” J Foo’s sister said.
“I have to try, J Foo has done too little for me to just let him go and get himself killed,” said Joe.
“That doesn’t even make sense Joe!” Exclaimed J Foo’s sister, who for some reason this late in the story still does not have an actual name.  Either does Joe’s dad for that matter…  Neither does Joe’s mom, but what Joe’s mom does have is a lot of sex.  You know, she’s really promiscuous and stuff and somehow Joe is still an only child.  How does that work?  A million darts thrown at a dart board and somehow only one sticks?  We should probably focus on the matter at hand.
“Well, all toasters toast toast,” said Joe.
With his final words, Joe jumped in his Eclipse, J Foo’s sister climbed in too. 
“You’ll never find them without my help,” she said. 
“Are we going to fuck now?” Asked Joe.  J Foo’s sister threw up.
Joe took off and they went to where J Foo was going to pull off the job.  They knew that if they didn’t hurry J Foo was likely to get sodomized by a thousand angry raccoons.
J Foo’s sister told Joe the whole story, “The reason I’m sure J Foo will die tonight is because the cartel plans to use him as bait while they pull the real job elsewhere.  When the buyers find out that J Foo is just a decoy they’ll turn their raccoons on him for the trouble, but my dumbass brother thinks that they won’t have a problem with it, he’s sure to go down like a ho on some guy.”
“That’s a terrible metaphor,” said Joe.
“I know, it’s late and I’m just running out of ideas,” said J Foo’s sister, ah hell, let’s call her Laura or something.
Just as Joe was arriving, he saw all of the gang’s cars leaving as fast as possible.  Joe was shocked that J Foo had figured out what was going on, but now they were being chased.  Joe whipped out the gun that he had in the back seat.
“You are full of surprises Joe, who would have thought you’d have a gun?” said J Foo’s sister, Laura. 
“You don’t?” Asked Joe.
Joe raced after them, as he approached the first biker, he whipped out the gun and shot, the biker flew back and got run over by another one, but now Joe was a target.  There was still 3 bikers chasing J Foo, and now that they knew Joe was a threat as well, they wouldn’t be as easy to get rid of.  Joe drove up on one of the remaining bikers and prepared to shoot at him, the biker swerved and ran into Joe, which made the biker go flying, must have been on pot.  After realizing that they were just going to get killed anyways, the other two bikers took off because I am not going to try and explain with simple text some sort of epic chase scene because once again it is late and I am tired.  Besides how are people on motorcycles really a threat to people in cars?  What are they going to do?  J Foo could just drive by a police station or something and then the police would stop the guys on the bikes.  It isn’t really illegal to huff kittens, is it?  You know what is illegal is Joe’s mom having a train run on her by the entire Detroit Lions football team including the cheerleaders and the fans and the staff and the entire city of Detroit and the state of Illinois and the country of Spain and eggs.  Joe followed J Foo to what appeared to be a house that Joe had never seen before.  J Foo’s old Prelude was in bad shape, it had taken a lot of bullets and raccoon bites and now the police were after him as well for being a drug dealer.  J Foo went up to the garage of the house and opened it up.  Inside was an old Camaro, Joe figured that because it was old and a Camaro it must be fast.  Joe let J Foo’s sister out and yelled at J Foo to surrender to the police because he wouldn’t be able to run forever.
“Joe, I gotta get out of this place, I’ve got police, drug lords and Yor Mom after me, I’ve gotta skip the country,” said J Foo.
“You haven’t even figured out who Dee is yet and you’re going to just leave?  Unacceptable, besides I still haven’t fucked your sister so you can’t leave,” said Joe.
“You’ve got to catch me first,” said J Foo as he started up the engine to the Camaro.  J Foo popped the clutch on the Camaro as any ricer would do and started to drive away.  Joe quickly started after him in the Eclipse.  Joe chased J Foo for a few miles, easily pacing him because the Camaro was not as fast as Joe thought because old cars are slow and can’t steer.  They came up to a stoplight and J Foo stopped.  Up ahead, Joe could see a railroad crossing.
“I used to get caught trying to drag here back in high school, that railroad crossing is exactly a quarter mile from here, on green I’m going for it,” said J Foo.
Joe looked at him, not saying a word, wanting to prove that he could beat J Foo and prove that he was no longer a slow mo.  The light turned green and Joe hit the gas and the Nitrous at the same time.  The 200 shot hit so hard that it vaulted the front end of Joe’s Eclipse into the air and shot him 6 or more car lengths ahead of J Foo.  Joe came.  J Foo had plenty of Nitrous of his own and used it to catch up to Joe.  They were running near neck and neck but Joe was still ahead.  Up at the railroad crossing, a train was approaching.  Joe looked forward and saw the train; J Foo did the same.  J Foo was showing no signs of slowing, so Joe decided that he was going to beat the train.  J Foo had more NOS so he used it, and went even faster.  Joe also had more NOS so he used it.  J Foo also had more NOS so he used it.  Joe also had more NOS so he used it.  J Foo also had more NOS so he used it.  Joe was running his car as hard as he could; they were nearing the train crossing.  The train made him think of his mom.  In a spectacular jump, Joe flew across the tracks just before the train got there.  J Foo was not as lucky though.  The train hit J Foo’s car and ripped the rear end of the car straight off and sent the remaining piece spinning through the air.  Then J Foo’s car ramped off the front of a semi-truck, because they are shaped just like ramps aren’t they?  After ramping up into the air J Foo’s car ran into a flock of geese and ramped further into the air and did a massive 720 before finally getting caught in a tree.  Then the crash repeated over and over from 27 different camera angles.  Joe ran up to J Foo’s car and climbed the tree.
“That was sweet, let’s do it again,” said J Foo when Joe finally got there.  Joe could hear the Police approaching; he had to make a choice.  Would he surrender J Foo to the Police or would he just leave like nothing had happened and take J Foo with him.  Joe helped J Foo from the car and they drove off in the Eclipse.
J Foo managed to skip the country along with the rest of his gang and went to Japan where everyone has rice mobiles because American cars aren’t permitted and Mustangs have SR20s, fucking commies.  Joe’s dad, realizing that Joe was no longer the slow mo that he used to be gave Joe a permanent position in his shop where they continue to make money off ricers.  Yor Mom finally realized that his WRX was quite slow and that he could have done much better with something different because turbo doesn’t make a car “Da Bomb”.  J Foo’s sister stayed in the city with Joe, and finally Joe scored with her because he had actually done something heroic.  And then a deflated basketball hit Joe.

Wednesday, August 29, 2012

The Slow and the Tedious Part 3

The next day, Joe went back to his Dad’s part shop.  He approached his dad.
“Let me guess Joe blow, you need a bigger shot of NAWZZZ?” Joe’s dad asked mockingly.
“Actually no, Asians came by and put a match in my car and it went nuclear from the NOS so now I’m going to ‘build up’ a Mitsubishi Eclipse and so I need one of the turbo 4’s from a GSX,” said Joe.
Joe’s dad broke out in hysterical laugher at his son.  “What the fuck Joe Blow?  You blew up your other car so you want to do the same to another car with an engine that you can’t possibly afford so that you can street race for ‘respect’?” Asked Joe’s dad.
“DUR!” exclaimed Joe.
“Just because it will be quite epic to see you fail, I’ll do it.  But when you lose, you’ll have to work off all the money you owe me and no more ricing,” said Joe’s dad, “But if you win, which I’m sure won’t happen, I’ll pay for it all and you keep the car but you still have to work here because your life of perpetual fail is absolutely hilarious to me.”
“Thanks Dad, you’re the best,” said Joe.
“Don’t call me that,” said Joe’s dad, “It makes me sick.”
So Joe got all the parts he would need to make a tyght Eclipse from his dad.  Rather, he brought in an issue of Sport Compact Car and said, “I want these.” The whole time, his dad was laughing and mumbling something about how he couldn’t believe that Joe was possibly his son and something else about wishing he’d used protection or whatnot.  Joe took all the parts back to J Foo’s garage so that they could start working on the car.
By the time that Joe got back to the garage, J Foo and his ‘team’ had managed to do significant damage to the Eclipse with ‘body modifications’.  To a normal person, the car looked dumb as hell, but to Joe, it was cool.  The wing for the back of his front wheel drive car cleared the rear trunk-lid by 25 inches.  Joe showed them the parts that he’d gotten from his dad.  They started looking at them.
“What the hell are these?” Asked Aie holding up spark plug wires.
“I thought you guys knew what you were doing when it came to cars?” Said Joe.
“We only know how to apply stickers, do body mods and paint stuff under-hood,” said Yo.
“I’ve got a cool air intake,” said J Foo.
“Oh my god, you guys are pathetic!” exclaimed Joe.  “Why the hell do you race if you don’t upgrade the engine at all?”
“Don’t our cars look cool though?” Asked Yo.
“Just changing the way your car looks doesn’t make it fast!  No wonder you guys lose to Yor Mom every year at race wars.”  Said Joe.
“Can you help us Joe?  We want to win against Yor Mom this year,” said J Foo.
“First, we need to head down to my dad’s shop and get some parts to make your cars faster,” said Joe, “Let’s go!”
They all rolled down to Joe’s dad’s shop.  They stepped out and headed into the shop.  J Foo’s team was amazed; they’d never seen some of the things in the shop before.  They did recognize the fart cans and turbochargers however.
Aie said, “Man I wish I had a turbo so I could put a loud blow off valve on it.”
J Foo replied, “My favorite is that one that sounds like a turkey.”
Joe’s dad noticed them come in.  “You guys must be Joe’s retarded ricer friends,” he said.
“Yup, that’s us,” said J Foo, “We need parts for our cars.”
After glancing outside to see what kind of cars they had, Joe’s dad responded, “I see you have the same disgusting taste in cars as Joe does.”
“We all want to improve our cars so that we can beat this Asian guy’s WRX at Race Wars,” said Joe.
“Nothing like setting your goals low,” Joe’s dad said, “But if you have the money, I’ll get my people working on your cars.” J Foo whipped out a chunk of cash, probably around $15,000.
“Where the fuck did you get all that cash J Foo?”  Asked Yo Gee.
“From my mom,” said J Foo.  Joe didn’t believe him, he had seen where J Foo lives and unless his mom was a very successful professional um… whatever it is politically correct to call a ho these days, there is no way he got that money from his mom.  Joe was curious.
So, with the money paid, the people in Joe’s dad’s shop went to work on the cars.  In order to beat the WRX, J Foo’s car would need around 400 HP without NOS.  With an old Honda engine that would be near impossible, so they had to swap in an H22 that they got overnight from Ja-Pan and then work on getting that engine up to 400 HP, so that took the entire 15 grand.  But, who cares about the other cars. 
One night after Joe had finished working on cars, he was just getting back to his house and J Foo’s sister was there.  Joe started thinking that maybe he would get laid tonight because sometimes his mom would go over to people’s houses and then she would end up getting plowed by them for a while and then getting plowed by their friends and then getting plowed by their refrigerator.  At first he thought that maybe it was customary for a woman to give a blowjob to a man as a gift when visiting their house but as he got older he started to think that maybe his mom was just easy like Sunday morning.  However, Joe decided that once again it might be best to remain focused on the current situation.
J Foo’s sister walked up to Joe.  “Joe Blow, why do you race fart machines?” She asked.
“Because my entire life has been working towards getting laid and I find that street racing is my best chance to achieve my goal.”  Joe responded.
“Some advice Joe,” J Foo’s sister said, “Racing cars will be the end of you, stop doing it.”
“So are you going to have sex with me like in Fast and the Furious?” asked Joe.  J Foo’s sister walked away laughing hysterically.
In the meantime, Joe’s Eclipse was coming together.  He had installed his new engine, with plenty of help of course.  Then he installed a new turbocharger and boosted the hell out of it.  Then he installed a nitrous kit that was wired correctly so that it would actually work when he hit the switch.  After they finished Joe’s car they started it up and it farted to life.
Aie started petting the car, Joe yelled, “Get your grimy hands off, I just waxed this thing!”
Joe and J Foo went rolling down the highway until they met up with a BMW 325.  Joe looked over at the BMW driver and asked, “Nice car, what’s the retail on one of those?”
The BMW driver responded, “I don’t know, my parents bought it for me.” And he started revving.
J Foo looked over at Joe and said, “Smoke ‘em.”
BMW 3-series are not fast, so when the light changed, Joe was able to destroy it.  Joe’s Eclipse was easily able to pull on the slow Bimmer because of all the boost he was running.  Joe kept on going faster and faster until he had ‘maxxed’ out his speed while the whole time humming ‘Superstar’ by Saliva.  Shortly after the race, Joe stopped at a seafood restaurant.  Joe and J Foo sat down to have some food.
“What’s up with you today Joe?  You’re not your usual slow mo self,” said J Foo.
“J Foo, where did you really get that 15 grand that you whipped out at my dad’s part shop?” Asked Joe.
“I told you, from my mom,” replied J Foo.
“I’ve seen where your parents live, they aren’t rich enough to be just giving you 15 grand,” said Joe, “So whatever you’re in on, I want in on it too.”
“After Race wars Joe,” said J Foo, “Maybe I’ll let you in on what I’m doing, but until then, just try to focus on who Dee is.”
“But nobody knows who Dee is or just where Dee’s nuts come from!  I have spent the better part of my life trying to figure that out and I have finished wasting my life!”  Exclaimed Joe.
“Look, until you perform at Race Wars, I can’t let you in on what I’m doing,” said J Foo, “Now are you going to eat your fat?”
So Joe went with J Foo and his gang to Race Wars.  Sure enough, there was lots of rice there as well as wet T-Shirt contests.  There was so much rice present that there was a constant buzz in the air as if you were around a bee’s nest.  Joe went and parked his Eclipse near the rest of the gang’s cars and Joe went to check out some of the action.  The first race that Joe got to watch was a riced Accord LX and a CRX.  They weren’t keeping track of quarter mile times because that would be embarrassing for most of the people there to see how slow their car actually was in the quarter mile, so they did the 1/8th mile instead.  Ka Beech was getting ready to race a guy with an Elantra.
“Baby, hey baby,” the guy said, “You are ugly for a girl!  You look like some kind of small rodent!”
“And you drive a Hyundai,” replied Ka Beech.  With insults that brutal, they knew it was on.  No Hyundai had ever been built fast, and this one was no exception.  In a fit of orgasmic pleasure, Ka Beech was easily able to beat him because any car that was running could have. 
Finally, Yor Mom and his gang showed up.  His WRX was just as ricey as before and likely wasn’t any different then Joe had seen it the day that Yor Mom came by the garage aside from his new body kit.  Joe knew that he had to race Yor Mom and win because if he lost then he’d have to do unspeakable things for his dad, and that, he was unwilling to do.  Joe had to win, for himself and for his car, because if he didn’t win with as much boost as he was running he might as well shoot himself.  J Foo pushed Joe out of the way.
“I want to race Yor Mom,” said J Foo.
“Everyone wants my mom,” said Joe.
“No, Yor Mom,” said J Foo.
“Oh,” said Joe.
J Foo pulled his Prelude up to face Yor Mom.  He had prepared for this moment for a long time, or at least like the last couple of days.  He was tired of getting pushed around by Yor and his various preppy crap.  This time he was going to win.
“What’s up Foo, you gonna race your kiddy shit against my Rex?” Asked Yor.
“It’s on, for pinks,” said J Foo.
Joe was worried.  “We haven’t had a chance to test your car J Foo and now you’re going to race against Yor Mom for pinks?”
“I have to, it’s about respect,” said J Foo, “And eggs.”
J Foo revved his H22 to the redline and so did Yor Mom, when the mildly buzzed flagger dropped his hands they took off.  J Foo roasted his tires badly, he had never experienced torque before and Yor jumped out to a big lead.  J Foo hit his NOS and came.  He was pulling on Yor Mom.  He might actually make it this time.  But then, a sound came from under the hood of his car and the hood flew into the air.  The welds on the intake had blown!
“SHIT!” yelled J Foo, and he lost.  Yor Mom couldn’t help but laugh at J Foo’s pitiful attempt.
“Now your car is belong to me, and all your base,” said Yor Mom.
Joe had to do something to make this right.  “Race me, all or nothing.  If I win, I get J Foo’s car back and if I lose you get my car too.  And my mom.”
Yor Mom gasped, Joe’s mom might be real loose like a long neck goose but she was incredibly skilled and if he won, he would have Joe’s mom all to himself.  “You’re on!!!” Yor said without hesitation.
J Foo said, “Don’t do it Joe, he must have over 9000 under the hood of that car.”
Joe rolled up to the line and prepared to race Yor Mom.  Joe looked over.
“I’m going to really enjoy your mom,” said Yor Mom, “My garbage disposal will too.”
Both cars were farting away at the line.  Yor Mom just sat with the car bouncing off the rev limiter.  The flagger dropped his hands and they were off.  Joe knew as they took off that it was going to be a close race, they were within one car length of one another and Joe was winning.  Yor Mom hit his nitrous and started gaining on Joe.  “Too soon junior,” Joe said and he crossed his fingers and hit the nitrous switch.  Sure enough, it worked this time, and Joe started to pull away from Yor Mom as the world blurred around him.  Turns out that the nitrous was actually leaking into the cabin of the car.  Joe started laughing maniacally.  The speeds were incredible to him, he had never gone so fast.  Finally after Joe nearly passed out, he won.  Joe couldn’t believe it, even though there was no chance that he could have lost with as much boost as he was running, but having lost his first race, Yor Mom was not happy.
“How could I lose to you Joe Blow?  I’ve never lost before,” said Yor Mom.
“That’s because all you would race was Honda rice mobiles,” said Joe.
Yor Mom attacked Joe.  As soon as Joe was attacked, he tried to kick Yor Mom in the balls, but he missed because Yor Mom is a ricer and has very small balls.  Yor Mom punched Joe in the face and Joe almost fell, but he came back at Yor Mom with a swift punch in the gut.  Yor Mom fell on the ground.
“Someday Joe, you won’t be looking and I’ll hit you with a deflated basketball,” said Yor Mom.
“Way to go Joe!  You managed to beat a WRX! To think that we actually thought that it was fast and cool looking,” said J Foo.
“Hey J Foo, we got a problem,” yelled Yo.
“What’s that?” Asked J Foo.
“Aie Flyby raced a guy with a Probe for slips,” said Yo Gee.
“Shit,” said J Foo, “He lost for sure; he’s only got 100 horses under the hood of that Escort GT.”
“Worse, after the race he tried to drive off to get away but his engine finally died off after burning all of the oil,” said Yo Gee, “So the guy caught him and started to beat the shit out of him.  And then after that the car caught fire and exploded, he’s dead.”
“Oh well, he was just a secondary character anyways, who needs him?” Asked J Foo.
“I’ll live without him,” said Joe.

Tuesday, August 28, 2012

The Slow And The Tedious: Part 2

“What the fuck was up with that?” Asked Joe.
“A business deal that went sour, plus I made the mistake of groping his ass when I was drunk,” said J Foo, “Lets catch a Taxi back to my house.”
Joe started thinking about how drunk someone would have to be to grope the ass of another man, and yet, his mom let people do all sorts of things to her ass even when she wasn’t drunk.  They would touch her ass, lick her ass, she even let an ass fuck her in the ass in front of a bunch of asses.  At first Joe just thought that his mom was really into animals but then he started to think that maybe she had a mental problem.  He decided to focus on the task at hand.
Joe went back to J Foo's house with him and there was a party going on.  J Foo told him that he could have any brew in the house as long as it was empty.  Everyone laughed at Joe.  Joe was used to being made fun of, so he asked if he could use the bathroom.
“You can use any bathroom you want as long at it’s empty,” said J Foo.
“I get it,” said Joe.
“You can get whatever you want as long as it’s empty,” J Foo said again.  People kept laughing, they were really drunk.
“Someone obviously offered you the same deal with your head,” said Joe.
J Foo didn’t get it.  "Whatever," J Foo said.  While Joe was in the bathroom, J Foo's friend, Yo Gee said, “Why’d you bring the loser here?” J Foo yelled, "Because the loser kept me out of handcuffs, he didn’t just fart back to the fort, the loser brought me back."  When Joe came back down, J Foo's girl Ka Beech told J Foo that they needed to go upstairs and fuck while listening to rice rev because it made her have a bigger orgasm.  As J Foo was walking up stairs, he turned to Joe and said, "You know you owe me a 16 second car right?" 
"OUCH!" yelled Ka Beech and she laughed.  Joe looked around at the party, there were people passed out all over the place and girls that were so drunk that they were kissing each other for shots of liquor.  There was this one guy playing the same two notes on a guitar and pretending like he could play.  There was a guy who played Guitar that came to see Joe’s mom one time.  He played the guitar for a while and then Joe’s mom had sex with him and the guitar.  At first Joe had just thought his mom was a music lover but now he was starting to think that maybe she had additional mental issues.  He decided to focus on the task at hand.  Joe started thinking about where he would be able to find a sixteen second car.  All of a sudden, a girl who appeared sober came up to Joe. 
Joe tried to be smooth.  "Hey Baby," Joe said. 
She gagged slightly then replied, "That was lame," responded the girl, "Anyways, follow me." 
"You know," the girl started, "You actually seem to be the most normal person here, usually when my brother brings home one of his rodent racer friends they are drunk, stoned or both within the first 2.3 minutes." 
"Well I was going to get drunk but your brother said I could only have empty beers," said Joe. 
"Are you serious?" she responded.
“Well, I guess so,” Joe replied.
“Look, if you want to be different, you are going to have to try to be different, you are still a loser in a group of losers.  So, a word of advice, if you treat other people like shit, they will respect you for it, that's the way racing is." 
"Okay, I'll try to remember th--" Joe was cut off. 
"Not like that, say 'Whatever, Bitch.'" The girl said. 
"Why would I say that?" asked Joe.
“Because, if you want to be a ricer it’s important that you treat your enemies like shit and your friends like shit’s shit,” she replied, "Just say it, you need to get respected or they will walk all over you."
"Whatever," said Joe.
"There you go, now go find yourself another hamster that you can get to go as fast as a minivan."
“Are we going to fuck?” asked Joe.
“Not if you were water in the desert,” said the girl.
The next day, Joe went down to the junkyard.  He needed to find something that he could get into the 16s, but money was tight and his mom was not.  Although J Foo had a booming drug business, his constant purchase of hos and body parts to stick onto his car made him quite poor.  Then, Joe saw it, the perfect car:  A busted up Mitsubishi Eclipse.  A guy with an Eclipse had sex with his mom once, in fact, a girl with an Eclipse had plowed his mom once, heck a moose with an Eclipse had plowed his mom once.  With some work, that should be able to go faster then most of those other ricers, so Joe had it towed to J Foo's garage.
As Joe pulled up J Foo said, "What the fuck is that shit?  This is a garage not a junkyard." 
Joe remembered what J Foo's sister said.  Joe responded, "When you have a garage full of rice it might as well be a junkyard." 
J Foo said, "You're probably right."  Everyone laughed; Joe started to see how this worked. 
Yo Gee said, "You could push this across the line, or tow it." 
Joe responded, "I could do either and I'd still beat you there."  Everyone laughed again. 
"Whoa," said Aie Flyby, "this is an Eclipse, it will decimate all..."
Joe interrupted, "It's an RS." 
Aie said, "Oh, never mind."
"As far as fixing this up goes," said Joe, "There should be enough plastic body parts to repair this and we don't need to worry about fixing the engine that much because I'm just going to drive the shit out of it anyways, but it doesn't have a can." 
"I need to get you racing again so that you can go to Race Wars and see the wet T-shirt contests," said J Foo.
All of a sudden from what seemed to be a hundred miles away Joe started to hear the fury of a Volkswagen Beetle but it turns out that a Subaru WRX pulled up and an Asian guy stepped out.  It was Yor Mom, he said, "Hey white rice boys, you going to take your little buzzing hamsters to Race Wars this year so I can beat your ass?"
"I'm not missing the wet T-shirt contest," said J Foo. 
"Good," said Yor Mom, "I need some money." 
"You'll be surprised," said J Foo, "This year is going to be different." 
"Hey Asian Dude," said Joe, "Just because your car has AWD and a turbocharger doesn't mean it's the fastest thing on the road." 
"Whatever white boy, you’re just a poser," said Yor Mom. 
"At least I buy my own cars instead of asking mommy to buy me the flavor of the month," said Joe.
"Fine, when we race at Race Wars, we'll see who wins." With that said, Yor Mom drove off and Joe could see that the car was already blowing blue smoke from being over-boosted and driven too hard.
"What the fuck are you thinking Joe?" Asked Yo, "He's a rich Asian guy with a WRX, you don't have a chance of beating him." 
"With a turbo engine boosted to hell with NOS, I can beat him easily," said Joe.
"Where are you going to find a 4G63 this close to Race Wars?" asked Aie. 
"Don't worry, I have my connections," said Joe.
“In the meantime, we should check out what Yor Mom is running in that car of his,” said J Foo.
So Joe, J Foo and Aie Flyby made their way to Yor’s garage.  Aie stayed in his Jetta to be a lookout while Joe and Foo made their way into the garage.  Upon arriving in the garage, they noticed that this was also a home for Yor Mom’s other ‘flavor of the month’ toys.  There was a 325i, a C230, an IS300 and various other preppy compacts that Yor Mom had apparently tired of already.  Joe wondered why Yor Mom couldn’t just stick with one vehicle but then that made him wonder why his mom couldn’t just stick to one guy, just last night she was getting plowed by some guy and this morning she was getting plowed by a completely different guy and by the time Joe had finished with breakfast a grizzly bear was plowing his mom.  Joe was starting to think that maybe his mother was a bit promiscuous.  However, Joe decided that he should remain focused on the task at hand.  J Foo had already begun looking for the WRX; he had to know what it was that he was to go against.
They finally found what they were after near the front of the building.  After looking over it for just a short time, it was obvious that this was no joke.  Yor Mom might be an idiot, but he was rich and the mechanics that he had hired to work on this car knew what they were doing.  It had an aftermarket turbo and intercooler as well as enhanced fuel delivery systems and all sorts of other mystical things that Joe had read about in his last issue of Sport Compact Car.  Joe estimated that even with the power sapping qualities of the all-wheel drive that the car would put down no less then 350 horsepower to the wheels.
“This is the real thing J Foo, Yor Mom won’t even need driver skill because of the AWD,” said Joe, “All he has to do is rev up and dump the clutch while jamming it into each gear and hope it doesn’t break.”
“We can do it Joe, we just have to match him dollar for dollar,” replied J Foo.
“But where are we going to get that kind of money J Foo?” Asked Joe.
“You just let me worry about the money and you worry about putting together a car!”  Exclaimed J Foo.
Just then, J Foo’s cell phone began to ring; the sound of ‘I Like Big Butts’ filled the garage.  It was a call from Aie Flyby.  Yor Mom was coming to the garage and there wouldn’t be enough time to escape.  They would have to hide and hope that Yor Mom and his gang didn’t see them.  A short time later, the garage doors opened up and Yor Mom, Poke and about 6 other members of their gang pulled in with various expensive cars.  From one of the cars, a gang member pulled what appeared to be a mechanic from one of the cars.  Poke held the guy as Yor talked to him.
Yor Mom pointed to his car.  “Do you see anything wrong with my car Ted?” 
The man shook his head.  “No Mr. Mom, we put all of the modifications that were in the magazine you gave us into the car and then tuned it for you.”
Grabbing the man, Yor Mom said, “It ain’t got no body kit does it!?”
“But Mr. Mom, a body kit provides no performance improvement so we didn’t think that was important.” 
Yor Mom felt the rage of a thousand angry pigeons in a world without birdseed.  He grabbed the mechanic and yelled, “YOU FUCK!  How am I supposed to keep all this power on the road without some aerodynamics?!”  Yor calmed himself, “A full wide-body kit would pull a premium one week before race wars wouldn’t it?”
“I suppose,” said the man.
“What are you thinking Poke?  Cock or cock and balls?” asked Yor.
“Cock sounds nice,” said Poke.  That being said, Yor pulled a rooster from his car as Poke forced the guy to the ground.  The proceeded to jam the rooster into the guy’s mouth!  Joe was disgusted.
“Where is my body kit Ted?” asked Yor.
“In a warehouse,” mumbled Ted.
“Wow, that was totally specific!” exclaimed Yor.  “I couldn’t have figured that out myself!”
“You’ll make a map to the place, or you’ll be getting a lot more ‘personal’ with my little friend here,” said Yor, shaking the rooster.  They then left, supposedly to get Yor’s new body kit and hos.
“Wow,” said J Foo, “I’m really out of it, is that how you shop for aftermarket parts these days?”

Freedom Isn't Free

So stop whining about taxes.  Problem?

Monday, August 27, 2012

Honda: The Power of Dreams: Part I

Honda's lineup right now is garbage.  It's all over the place.  Half the time when looking at a new Honda, I'm not sure if what I'm looking at is a car, SUV, minivan, or some combination of all three.  So Honda, stop it.  Just knock that shit off.  Everything is ugly and half-assed on the Honda lot.  Soichiro-San is displeased.
After being disgusted by the trash at Honda, I wander over to the Acura lot, hoping that there is some semblance of life there.  Nope. My eyes are assaulted with the infamous "Power Plenum" grille; or as it is better known, “The Beak”.  Acura's designers indignantly refuse to change it, because clearly, they know better than their own customers. 
So Honda, I'll say again; stop.  You don't know better than your customers.  I have owned three Hondas and if things keep going this way, I won't own any more of your pretentiously mediocre cars.  The CR-Z, Honda?  Really?  Dafuq is that all about?
This series will address the problems with Honda and how to fix them in a realistic and economical fashion.  A paradigm shift doesn't come easily, however.  Big change requires big investment, not only in product, but presentation of said product.  Imagine me as Honda's own Alan Mullaly.  The main theme here is simplifying the brand as a whole.  The number of nameplates will decrease, and the number of options within a given nameplate will increase.  Stay with me here.
The first matter of business concerns Acura.  When Honda created the Acura brand in 1986, Honda was little more than a quirky, Asian upstart, known mostly for motorcycles.  One did not get into a 1973 Civic; one put a Civic on and wore it.  By 1986, the Civic had grown, though it was still a tiny little thing, with a wheelbase shorter than today’s MINI Cooper.  A car about the size of Ford’s Taurus would have been a tough sell with an ‘H’ badge.  Enter Acura.  Initially, they sold only two cars: the Legend and the Integra.  Through the late eighties, nineties, and early aughties, Acura earned a reputation for efficient, comfortable, well built, technology laden, entry level luxury cars.  The automotive landscape has changed since then, however.  Detroit is pumping out world class iron at a monumental rate, Korean cars sell like hotcakes covered in crack cocaine, and the Europeans have found a way to make muscle car power and torque out of engines a third the size.  So where is Honda?  Sadly, Honda has fallen to mid-pack at best, forgoing new technologies for safe conservatism.  Honda and Acura once had a symbiotic relationship.  These days, it’s a parasitic relationship.  A Taurus-sized car is no longer a tough sell for the little ‘H’ badge.  In fact it’s something that Honda needs right now, with Toyota releasing the new Avalon soon, Chevy the Impala, and Hyundai the new Azera.  It’s a competitive market that Honda cannot compete in because if they did, their entry would steal sales from the Acura TL and possibly the RL.  So sadly, it’s time for Acura to go the way of Oldsmobile, Mercury, and AMC. 
This is not to say that Acura is gone and forgotten.  What I am really doing here is consolidating the brands, taking the best of both brands and putting them together.  I am moving Honda into a marketing position that is competitive with the booming American and Korean brands.  This not only makes things easier and more cohesive on the showroom floor and for the buying public, but behind the scenes as well, simplifying fixed operations.   Not only that, but it saves a lot of money on the bottom line. 
Under one banner, Honda has a sturdier framework with which to further build their reputation for innovative, quality cars, like they once did.  Do you agree?  If you don’t you’re wrong, but if you’d like to sound off in the comments section below, I’d love to hear your rage. 
In Part II of ‘The Power of Dreams,” we’ll delve into engines and transmissions.  I hope you hate it.

Review: 2008 Toyota Tacoma Double Cab TRD Off-Road Edition

By Dre' Marrow

My Toyota experience (though I've driven Corolla's, Avalon's, and Camry's) was extended this weekend when I borrowed my in-law's Tacoma for picking up a head board from my mom's house who lives about 60 mi away. Other than noticing a classic automobile at a gas station along with a Chevrolet Cruze possibly being repo'd, the Tacoma wasn't a bad midsize pickup. 

Though it size make it look like it could swallow three fat men on the inside, it's noticeably small, even for my 5'11 190lb frame. Although the Tacoma's interior isn't particularly fancy with hard plastic surfaces, it provides plenty of practicality and comfort. The gauges are clear and the controls are easy to operate. Storage space is plentiful, and the Double Cab's rear seat is comfortable for adults. 

However, some drivers might take issue with the positioning of the driver seat, feeling that it's mounted too low to the floor. Driving the Tacoma around the city was a good experience, for it's easy to maneuver, park in tight spaces, and handling was surprisingly good for a truck this size. On the highway, the truck showed plenty of passing power whenever summoned, the noise level was adequate and like in the city, the ride was pleasant, even for a hard core based TRD package. 

However, the MPG was awful, and ironically, the MPG was noticeably worse when cruising at 60mph. (driving at 70mph, yielded better MPG, which is a head scratcher). Loading the Tacoma with a 25lb payload was a breeze and the tie down hooks were strategically placed. But when driving up a small grade (it was about four of them) the Tacoma noticeably down shifted just to make it up the hill. 

Worse, the air conditioning wasn't on and the payload was an aforementioned 25lb! Unloading the Tacoma was as simple as loading it, making me appreciate the vehicles ride height. Overall, my over all experience with the Tacoma (stay tuned for my TL article), was a good one. Despite the smallish, hard surfaced interior, low for it's class MPG, I'll give the Tacoma a final grade of C-.

(Dre Marrow is the co-founder of The Spectrum, a site that provides insight about current events, or as he would put it, "common sense over non-sense")

The Slow And The Tedious: Part 1

It was early morning; the sun was just rising, as my breakfast was deep vat frying.  Joe took his Honda Civic DX out onto the Tarmac near the local Stadium.  He revved his car and looked at the road ahead.  Joe then jammed it into gear revved up and dropped the clutch; you could almost hear the transmission cry out in pain.  Joe raced down the tarmac increasing speed and grinding into each gear because “real racers don’t use the clutch.”  As he drove, he yelled at the car louder and louder because it just was not going very fast.  He was running out of Tarmac so Joe gave up and hit the brakes.  Between his speed and his ‘performance’ drum brakes; the car wasn’t slowing down much.  Joe panicked and turned to the left.  His lowering springs that provided no performance gain caused the car to spin out.  The car finally stopped just before smashing into a guardrail.  “Shit!” exclaimed Joe.
          Joe headed down to his Dad’s part shop where he worked part time.  His dad was one of those smart people that opened up an import tuner shop to make money off of all the stupid little ricers.  Joe walked up to his dad.
          “Joe, you are such a slow mo,” said Joe’s dad.
          “I was out testing my car out,” said Joe.
          “Oh you mean that stupid little imported hamster that for some reason beyond my comprehension you think is fast?” asked Joe’s dad.
          “Yeah, that one.  Anyways, I topped out at 90 miles per hour this morning, I need NOS,” said Joe.
          “It’s nitrous, by the way and what the fuck do you think that’s going to do for you, you still have a Civic that you’ve put over five thousand dollars into and it still barely runs the quarter in the 18s,” said Joe’s dad, “Besides, you don’t just go and throw nitrous on a stock motor, that’s suicide.”
          “If I’m going to be a competitive street racer I need to have NOS.  Without NOS I’ll just be another one of those Civics that’s all show and no go,” said Joe.
          “Even with NITROUS you’ll still be a Civic with no go,” said Joe’s dad.
          “I need one of these big bottles, and I need it by tonight,” said Joe.
          “It’s your funeral.  And by the way, do it yourself you lazy bum, I’m fucking busy,” said Joe’s dad.
Since Joe’s Civic was now tricked out to the maxx with NOS, he decided that he would go to the local street race meeting spot and get into a race so he could make a name for himself.  While Joe was rolling up he revved the fuck out of his engine.  Many, many people were holding their hands toward their heads. 
Joe parked and some guy came up and said, "What you think you're doin’ with this kiddy shit?" 
Joe was like, "Joe knows a few things and one of the things that Joe knows is it's not how you stand by your car, it's how you race your car." 
The other guy was like, "Man, you are fucked up!" 
Joe saw the ringleader of the car group pull up in a Honda Prelude.  His rap music was playing so loudly that it caused his ‘H’ emblem to fall off of his trunk.  When he stepped out his music was supposed to stop right before the lyrics had an F-Bomb but instead his CD started skipping and it just said “Fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck…”  Some hos gathered around him.  Another girl walked up.
“I smell, cheese,” the girl said, she looked like a rat, “Why don’t you get out of here before I leave teeth marks on your face.”  The other girls left, obviously this girl was the ringleader’s.
Then a guy said that there was going to be a big race for a two ‘G’ buy-in.  Joe wanted in, but he had nowhere near that much money.  So instead, Joe said that he would put up the pink slip to his car.  Everyone laughed. 
"You can't climb into bed with your mom just ‘cause you think she's hot," some guy said. 
Joe pointed at a guy and said, "He knows she's hot.”  Joe then began to contemplate just how easy it was to pick, out of a random group of people, a person that had slept with his mother.  Joe had always wondered growing up how many people in his neighborhood had, at one time or another plowed his mother.  The mailman, the milkman, his neighbor Steve, his neighbor Steve’s Jack Russell Terrier, the list went on and on.  At first Joe had just thought his mom was being friendly, but as he got older, he started to think that maybe she had addictive issues with intercourse.  Joe decided it was best to focus on the current task.
Joe continued, “So it’s like this, if I lose, winner takes my car clean and clear, if I win, maybe I’ll get some ricer chick to fuck me after the race."
“That ur car?” the ringleader asked.
They went over and checked out Joe’s car.  Compared to some of the other “rides” there, Joe’s car was significantly better, but you could tell there were no real racers here, because there was nothing but imports and compact domestics.
Some nerdy guy started checking out Joe’s car.  “I see a APEXi cool air intake, Recaro racing seats, shogun body kit, 20” double decker spoiler…” The nerdy guy said.  “And 18 inch Enkei rims,” the ringleader finished, “Not a bad way to spend ten thousand dollars.”
“Whatever,” the ringleader said, “but you’re in the race for tonight, and by the way all of the chicks already belong to us so forget about it.”
Joe left with all of the other street ricers.  It sounded like someone had played the brown noise.  They all lined up on a street.  One of the ricers blocked a pizza boy. 
“What the hell is going on around here?” the pizza boy yelled.
“Street’s closed pizza boy, find another way home,” the ricer responded.  The pizza boy keyed the ricers car and slashed his tires. 
“God damn rice boys,” said the pizza boy.  Joe lined up with 3 other cars.  The other cars were, an old Jetta, a Cavalier, and the ringleader’s early 90’s Honda Prelude.  A bitch walked up to the guy in the Cavalier. 
“This is yours if you win,” as he groped her, “But if you lose, you get him instead.” As she pointed to a big fat guy, the guy in the Cavalier cringed with terror. 
The guy in the Jetta was sitting in his car with somewhere around 500 pounds of audio and video equipment as well as another 1200 pounds of speakers and subwoofers playing Gran Turismo really, really poorly.  The ringleader was playing rap music as loud as his stereo would go and it still couldn’t cover up the drone from his exhaust. 
Joe told himself, “You’re gonna win, I’m gonna win, I think.”  Then he turned on his NOS, the 200 shot hissed as it primed up.
They were all revving waiting for the guy to signal them to go.  The guy was drunk though and forgot what he was supposed to be doing, and of course, he drove there.  Joe gritted his teeth and revved his D15 to redline.  It continuously bounced off the rev limiter.  Finally, he dropped his hands and yelled go, but you couldn’t tell at first.  They took off like it was a rat race; literally, they weren’t much faster then racing rodents.  It was pathetic.  Joe dumped the clutch and thought he was getting wheelspin but it was actually his clutch slipping.
Joe pulled strongly into second place, his bumble bee buzzing with the sound of a thousand hives.  He grabbed third, the clutch cried in pain.  Joe was pulling on the other cars, but the ringleader’s Prelude was still ahead of him.  Joe knew it was now or never and pressed the button for his NOS.  Joe braced himself for the world to blur around him as he went to warp speed…  Nothing happened.  The Jetta was pulling on Joe now.  Joe crossed the line just behind the Prelude.  After Joe lost, then the nitrous kicked in.  Joe’s hood poofed with grey smoke as his engine tried to put up with the 200 shot.  Joe quickly turned the nitrous off before it ‘blew the welds on the intake’ and rolled up to where all the other cars had stopped.
“That shit is tyte!” Some guy said to Joe as he got out of the car.
“Your car is pretty fast, but not faster then my Prelude,” said the ringleader, “VTEC fuckin ownz joo!!!!11”
“I still almost had you,” said Joe.
“Almost had me?” questioned the ringleader.  “You never had me, you never had your mom.”  Almost everyone had Joe’s mom, but he was right, Joe had never had his mom.
“Ask any tuner, any real tuner,” said the ringleader, “It doesn’t matter if your exhaust tip is an inch or a mile, winning’s winning.”
Suddenly, a bunch of cops started showing up.  Everybody tried to run, but their small four-cylinder engines were not even a match for the cops’ detuned V-8s.  The ringleader, J Foo, drove his car into a parking structure and left it to try and walk away from the whole thing.  As J Foo was leaving, a cop noticed him and tried to chase him, but Joe came to the rescue.  J Foo got in Joe’s car and Joe tried to speed away but the cop was right there.  Joe hit the Nawz and started to speed away from the cop, all the time knowing that his engine and transmission could give out at any time.  The sound from Joe’s buzzing exhaust was too much for the officer and he had to stop chasing for fear that his brain would explode. Finally, it appeared as if the cops were no longer chasing Joe.
“You really bailed me out there,” said J Foo, “My name is J Foo.”
“I’m Joe, I was hoping if I saved your ass you’d let me keep my car,” said Joe.
“Well, you saved my ass but you aren’t keepin’ ur car, mine could break down at any time, I need a new one,” said J Foo.  Joe was a bit disappointed, but he didn’t have much time to think about it because a bunch of Asian bikers pulled up to Joe.  One of them pointed a paintball gun at him and told him to follow.  Joe did as he was told because he didn’t want people shooting paintball guns at his tyte ride, he had paid over nine thousand dollars for the paint job.
They finally stopped in front of a Chinese restaurant.  Joe and J Foo jumped out of the car and the Asian guys got off their bikes, which were no more then oversized motorized scooters.
“I thought we had a deal,” the Asian guy said, “You stay away, I stay away, everybody’s happy.”
“We almost got busted Yor, what do you want me to tell you?”  Asked J Foo.  “Who’s we?” asked the Asian guy.
“This is Joe Blow, he’s a fellow ‘tuner’.  Joe, the guy I’m talking to is Yor Mom, his cousin in the fake snakeskin pants is his cousin Poke.  So when are you gonna give me a shot at that Honda 2000 of yours?”
“You think you’re so cool you can just drop letters off of names for no reason?  And I don’t have an S2000; that was last week.  Mommy bought me a WRX this week.  So what’s up with this?  What do you think of this shit Poke?”  Asked Yor.
“It’s a pitiful machine,” said Poke.
“That’s what I thought,” said Yor, “Anyways Foo, I’ll see you at Race Wars in a few weeks, prepare to have your ass handed to you.”
“You’re gonna need more then that scooter,” said Foo. 
“I’ve got something for you,” said Yor.  Yor Mom and his gang rode off and Joe and J Foo started to get back into the car, but as they were getting in, Yor and Poke rode back.  Yor carefully lit a small match and threw it into Joe’s car.
“NAWZZZ!” yelled J Foo.  The car exploded with the force of a million suns and green flames spewed from it.  Joe watched in horror as his tower of non-VTEC power went up in nitrous fueled flames.