Attention: TDR Forum Junkies 
> And the Light Turned Green...
>
> I borrowed my wife's Geo Metro last night. One litre of raw power,
> three 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 school bus-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 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 millimetre back into my
> seat, smoke pouring from my front right tire... but 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 litres 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 event cut-outs!
>
> I rebuked 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 rear-view 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 P165/80R13'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/Geo (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
> Volkswagen Van!
------------------
B I G O R A N G E AMBER-FIRE (BURNT ORANGE) / BRITE SILVER 2001(. 5), 2500, SLT, Q-CAB 4x4, SWB, AUTO, 3. 55, LSD, TOWING PACKAGE
ADD-ON'S: LINE-X, 1/4" STEEL LONGHORN HITCH COVER, WESTIN NERF BARS, YELLOW-TOP OPTIMAS
>
> I borrowed my wife's Geo Metro last night. One litre of raw power,
> three 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 school bus-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 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 millimetre back into my
> seat, smoke pouring from my front right tire... but 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 litres 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 event cut-outs!
>
> I rebuked 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 rear-view 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 P165/80R13'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/Geo (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
> Volkswagen Van!
------------------
B I G O R A N G E AMBER-FIRE (BURNT ORANGE) / BRITE SILVER 2001(. 5), 2500, SLT, Q-CAB 4x4, SWB, AUTO, 3. 55, LSD, TOWING PACKAGE
ADD-ON'S: LINE-X, 1/4" STEEL LONGHORN HITCH COVER, WESTIN NERF BARS, YELLOW-TOP OPTIMAS
