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
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
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.
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