Teenagers, and why they should be euthanized (vent)

I drive a Mustang. This has certain disadvantages. Chief among them is the fact that every poser with anime hair carrying fifty pounds of face piercings in their decal-powered Honda Civic wants to drag race me. Now, I’m perfectly wiling to publically humiliate these little wannabes, but the highway I live on is heavily patrolled, and mommy and daddy won’t be paying my ticket. So I just ignore the little wankers.

But today, I ran into a special breed of penile inadequacy. I was gassing up my car, getting ready for the work week. Suddenly, I hear someone revving an engine. I look over to see two white kids, who look to be about 12, covered in Tommy and wearing about $500 in gold chains each. And they want me to notice their car.

Why, I can’t imagine. I don’t really need my attention called to a Mazda 6, running a loud ass muffler but otherwise stock. I especially can stand to ignore one which has parts falling off it while it isn’t even running. Since I’m showing my lack of impressedness (actually, I was giggling like a schoolgirl), one of these cockless wonders decides he’d better “take it to the next level.” And the next thing I hear is

“Yo, G, how you like ma pimpin wheels!??!?! Better than you old piece a shit, huh?”

Once, again, white teenager. Tommy. Gold chains. Calling someone “G” in the 21st century. At this point, I begin to contemplate Grand Theft Auto-ing the little punk, but manage to contain my homicidal tendencies. What I do do (hehe), however, is to roll down my window on the way out of the station so I can point and laugh at these two.

So as I’m idling up to do a U-turn, I hear what sounds like a large meteor strike behind me. As I check the mirror, I realize it’s the Mazda with the “trick” (giggle) muffler. The putz is standing on the gas, redlining his car. In a mere 10 seconds, he has reached 20 miles an hour and covered the half-block seperating us. And as luck would have it, this is exactly the time a nice, long opening in traffic comes along.

So, I can now say without a doubt the putzii in question know what “pimpin wheels” are. I can say this, because I slowly pulled through, waited for them to “take off,” then lit off my 302 V8 and saw them just vanishing in the distance through my mirror as I pulled into my apartment a mile down the road. Still not as good a feeling as drinking mead from their empty skulls, but it’s a start.

Testosterone poisoning. Not as serious a threat as cognitive dissonance (the number one threat to the Republic!) but still.

I bet if they had a big spoiler they would have owned you. :wink:

Somehow I know this is the thought process (and I use the term in its loosest possible sense) going on somewhere right now. “Hey man, we need some more decals! And chrome wheels!”

What does “G” stand for? Grandad?

“G whiz, I wish I had his car!”

Yeah, I know what you mean. I wish the 16-year old kids in my area saw “Grand Am” and thought “sedan” rather than “semi-sportish car”.

I do my racing in traffic. No, that doesn’t mean I drive ridiculously fast when there’re other cars around… means I know how to make my way (pretty safely, I’m proud to say) through congestion. Call it a sixth sense, or maybe just an ability to look at the road beyond the first car in front of me, but I can usually tell which lanes are going to allow me passage.

It’s great to see some puke stuck behind a minivan just after he accelerated off the light at 5,000 RPM.

As a young guy who saw “2 Fast 2 Furious” I can relate to the boys wanting to race…I assume you are also pretty young because they wanted to race you, it’s all about having fun. Just lighten up it probably wasn’t that long ago when you were also 17 and would have been acting the same way.

Having said that I should also say that I don’t look for street races anymore.

A similar thing happened to me last summer. I was approaching an intersection where the light was red. There was a Mustang sitting at the light. I was slowing slow preparing to stop, when the light turned green. I zipped past the Mustang (well, if 25mph can be considered zipping) and the owner of the Mustang apparently took this as a challenge and opened his car up and sailed past me while he and his passenger stuck out their toungues and flashed the “Ozzy” salute and nodded their heads.

This would have been impressive had I not been driving a 94 Escort station wagon.

When I was 17 I made a 70 mile run without ever dropping under 110 to show up a Camaro. I nearly blew out my engine once just to get my doors blown off by a Diablo, just for the chance to get left in the dust by a real car. I could tell you the final drive ratio, torque, and maximum speed of any production car made in the last five years. It’s things like this that lead me into mechanical engineering.

And it was Georgia Tech and four years of dateless nerdery that made me forget my gearhead mastery and turned me into a mechatronics and CAD dude. But that’s another rant.

I don’t mind the racing, even though I’m a bit old for that sort of thing now, I mind how every schmuck with a beat up four cylinder acts like he’s driving a Testarossa when they see my car. If you’re going to tie up your masculinity in your car, you should spend less time surfing for adhesive-backed chrome colored plastic bits, and more time learning about the mechanics of the system. If you drive a shitty car, a really loud exhaust system is not going to turn it into a hot rod. If you drive a truck… well, you’re fucked. I don’t care if it’s the one with the V12 and the REALLY cool effects package and the Xenon foglamps, it’s still going to lack the rigidity, air flow, and tight suspension to make it a real mover.

Just thank your lucky stars that they didn’t have a Type-R sticker on the car, because that would have made you quake in your boots.

Could someone explain what these terms mean?

covered in Tommy

G

Type R sticker

Tommy Hilfiger.

Short for ‘gangsta’

Ricers will put said stickers on their cars, along with other purely cosmetic modifications, rather than actually do anything to the engine or whatnot. All show, no go. Type-R is some sort of of ‘racing’ designation. (Qualified to race or something)

And no doubt they discovered that, playing Gran Turismo on their Playstation…

I really don’t mean to offend, laigle, but I find it exceptionally funny to see you deriding others for “penile inadequacy” while you spend so much time talking about your ride and how you schooled those kids.

On second thought, perhaps I do mean to offend.

You’d have a point, Andros, if the OP had approached them, flashed his bling-bling, and yelled, “Yo, nigga, let’s shizzle the asphalt, beyatchnatchens!”

<evil grin>

Dont know about that, my aging international scout [1979] with its 345 v8 when properly tuned could blow the doors off a porche on an uphill start…something about an engine sized for a small school bus in a rather small utility vehicle [nothing sporty about a scout] managed to make a fairly zippy vehicle. Drove one idiot officer stationed in Groton insane, he spent several thousand $US a year on insurance, and my scout cost me about $300US a year to insure, and I could always blow his doors off…I really need to get it reregistered…

D00D!1! Phear the double spoiler!
http://www.laughatrice.com/gallery12/g12p2.htm

You know…

I’d swear that’s my little brother in that picture.

A few years ago Acura made a hotter version of the Integra, called the Integra Type-R. It became a very hot car for the riceboys. So they took to modifying Civics, Accords, even cars as mundane as Hyundais, and in an attempt to gain some street cred they put the Type-R stickers on their cars, even though they had zero business doing so.

People in the know think that it’s one of the funniest things they’ve ever seen.

Also popular is the VTEC sticker, and while it’s a little bit harder to call those clowns out, you can tell if you know your Hondas.