[JC455]

Hi all!
This is a story I posted a long time ago on the old boards. I wanted to share it with the newer people- if for no other reason than to say that some of us are here to have fun...
It started out just like any other weekend, I had just finished waxing up the Mustang for another night of stylin' and profilin'. I stopped by the local burger joint, Lefty's, to stake my spot on the outside and scope out the action. Lefty's was the kind of place you could go to feel like it was the good ol' daze again, a greasy spoon/carhop-girl attended diner with a 50's flavor. I was feeling pretty cocky that night, seeing as that I'd just blown off the local bad boy Camaro. He thought he was pretty hot with that 502/502 crate motor. What he didn't know was that I was packin' the street racer's american express (N2O- never leave home without it!), and I was really gunnin' for this punk. My 'stang's 351C and 4.56:1 rear with juice just couldn't be touched. About nine that night and large crowd started to gather around my rig. Some wise ##### asks if it's fast. I teel him,"it's alot faster than that piece of ***** Chevy you got!" That's all it took, it was on. "First of all, it ain't no Chevy- you MORON!!", he screamed at me. "It's a Pontiac, jerkoff!" I started to take a little offense at this. "Yeah, whatever... If it was half as fast as your mouth, I might want to run ya!", I banted back at him. "Look punk!" he stammered out,"my Poncho would blow that piece of *****'s doors off!!" At this point I was totally insulted and wanting to kick his a$$, so we agreed to run at midnight for $500.00. I went home and started the tuning process... It was an unseasonably cold night and I wasn't sure this was the right time/place to run. The old boy quarter mile was well known by ALL the locals. I show up and we start the look-over-your-car/insult-each-other process. "What the hell kind of motor is that??!! and what's up with that funky blue paint??!!" He comes back with some crap about all I'm gonna see are his tail feathers(sic) and suck some Poncho vapors. "F*ck it! Let's git-it-on!" We pull to the line and I set the first step of the rev limiter off at 3500 rpm- some guy flags us to start and my stage nitrous engages- I'm blowing this clown's doors off (or so I thought); I pop it in 2nd and hit the juice's 300 hp upper stage, when this hellacious noise comes right past my door- It's the Pontiac!! "Holy *****!! What the hell's he got in that thing?!" I rev the Ford as much as it can take, but the Pontiac's just wakin' and walkin' me hard! We come to the finish and I begrudgingly cough up the dough. "Here man-- I don't know what cha got in that, but it sure is bad assed!!" He introduces himself as "John" and offers to let me check out the 'bird's guts. At this point I'm really piqued-- what could he be running? John pops the hood and we start talkin'-- all the sudden we're surrounded by flashing lights (remember, EVERYBODY knows this spot!). "Ah damn it!" John yells, slamming the hood and running for door. I'm no idiot, so I figure I better make myself scarce. I punch it and we're off. I never saw the HP's road spikes... one second I'm on the juice and movin', the next my 'stang is barrel rolling sideways down a gorge. They tried to catch the 'bird, but he was just way too much for 'em. I awoke to two police officers and handcuffs. A few days later, the judge asks me it I have any final commits before sentencing. I thought long and hard for a couple minutes and said, "yeah man... I'm gonna get me a Pontiac, and next time ya' ain't gonna catch me!!" LATER---------->>


------------------
John

[JC455]

Hi all!
This is a story I posted a long time ago on the old boards. I wanted to share it with the newer people- if for no other reason than to say that some of us are here to have fun...
It started out just like any other weekend, I had just finished waxing up the Mustang for another night of stylin' and profilin'. I stopped by the local burger joint, Lefty's, to stake my spot on the outside and scope out the action. Lefty's was the kind of place you could go to feel like it was the good ol' daze again, a greasy spoon/carhop-girl attended diner with a 50's flavor. I was feeling pretty cocky that night, seeing as that I'd just blown off the local bad boy Camaro. He thought he was pretty hot with that 502/502 crate motor. What he didn't know was that I was packin' the street racer's american express (N2O- never leave home without it!), and I was really gunnin' for this punk. My 'stang's 351C and 4.56:1 rear with juice just couldn't be touched. About nine that night and large crowd started to gather around my rig. Some wise ##### asks if it's fast. I teel him,"it's alot faster than that piece of ***** Chevy you got!" That's all it took, it was on. "First of all, it ain't no Chevy- you MORON!!", he screamed at me. "It's a Pontiac, jerkoff!" I started to take a little offense at this. "Yeah, whatever... If it was half as fast as your mouth, I might want to run ya!", I banted back at him. "Look punk!" he stammered out,"my Poncho would blow that piece of *****'s doors off!!" At this point I was totally insulted and wanting to kick his a$$, so we agreed to run at midnight for $500.00. I went home and started the tuning process... It was an unseasonably cold night and I wasn't sure this was the right time/place to run. The old boy quarter mile was well known by ALL the locals. I show up and we start the look-over-your-car/insult-each-other process. "What the hell kind of motor is that??!! and what's up with that funky blue paint??!!" He comes back with some crap about all I'm gonna see are his tail feathers(sic) and suck some Poncho vapors. "F*ck it! Let's git-it-on!" We pull to the line and I set the first step of the rev limiter off at 3500 rpm- some guy flags us to start and my stage nitrous engages- I'm blowing this clown's doors off (or so I thought); I pop it in 2nd and hit the juice's 300 hp upper stage, when this hellacious noise comes right past my door- It's the Pontiac!! "Holy *****!! What the hell's he got in that thing?!" I rev the Ford as much as it can take, but the Pontiac's just wakin' and walkin' me hard! We come to the finish and I begrudgingly cough up the dough. "Here man-- I don't know what cha got in that, but it sure is bad assed!!" He introduces himself as "John" and offers to let me check out the 'bird's guts. At this point I'm really piqued-- what could he be running? John pops the hood and we start talkin'-- all the sudden we're surrounded by flashing lights (remember, EVERYBODY knows this spot!). "Ah damn it!" John yells, slamming the hood and running for door. I'm no idiot, so I figure I better make myself scarce. I punch it and we're off. I never saw the HP's road spikes... one second I'm on the juice and movin', the next my 'stang is barrel rolling sideways down a gorge. They tried to catch the 'bird, but he was just way too much for 'em. I awoke to two police officers and handcuffs. A few days later, the judge asks me it I have any final commits before sentencing. I thought long and hard for a couple minutes and said, "yeah man... I'm gonna get me a Pontiac, and next time ya' ain't gonna catch me!!" LATER---------->>


------------------
John