I do. Especially when they’re rude little fuckers.
I joined some whoremonging car forum to ask people for help when the SO (Silly Opossum) crunched his car… I think I may have posted something about this here in MPSIMS… anyhoo…
SOME CUM GARGLING SHIT WHORE WHO BATHES IN THE INCESTUOUS JUICES HE SUCKED FROM HIS DOG-SISTER’S ASS starts capping on me for having the “GAYEST SIG EVAR” and being a “n00b”…
'OH YEAH i’M THE RICIEST SO THAT MEANS I HAVE A SMALL WANG I HAVE THE OVERWHELMING NEED TO CHOP OTHER PEOPLE DOWN I’M A FUCKIN hillbilly A-Z-N wannabe from cousinhump, MI make fun of <glARGH’s other name> and start the dog pile involving everyone including the cunt of an admin who never gets laid because despite the sig, she is probably a man with a small penis as well."
I’m so fucking mad. These people are THE SHITTIEST FUCKING ASSCOCKWARTGONARHEAencRUSTedORaLHERPEsPREADINGpOOLsOFsewAGE I have ever had the displeasure of making contact with. I think they need sodomization with an on-fire, pestilence-ridden loungechair.
“ricer” refers to those little import cars which are painted hideous colors, have those giant “prepare for lift off” wings, bodykits several times the size of the actual car, sounds that are worth more than the car itself and have exhausts that sound like amplified bumblebees. it also refers to the snotty little bastards that drive them, either fresh off the boat Asian kids, or white kids who think they’re asian… Usually wearing “gangsta” clothes and visors.
Okay, so it’s a rant about another message board? Dude, that’s your punishment for being unfaithful to us. You should be thankful you didn’t also get a dose of virtual clap.
man o man. Its so good to be somewhere where the sentences don’t end with “Aight, homiiiieeezzz, I’m out” or where women like me are referred to as “hoes”.
Further clarification is offered on the definition of ‘Rice’. From what I’ve read, it also refers to a vehicle sporting decals and other stuff to make you think the engine, transmission have been tricked out, but is still as box stock as when it left the showroom.
Ah, for the good old days when big block 400HP engines were something a motorhead could do in his driveway, and high octane fuel was under 50 cents per gallon, the cries of my Dad, “Shut that damn thing off and go to bed!” still heard in the neighborhood.
I live in Miami, a haven for a small sub-species of ricers. They cruise Coconut Grove around midnight Fri and Sat. I was walking home one night, dismayed at the four cars in a row with identical decals and tough-wanna-be punks pumping their music loud, when I turned the corner toward home and halfway down the block passed a throbbing 1979-ish Pontiac Trans Am 6.6 just rumbling low at idle, that Detroit Iron making a sound like it could eat four of those ricers at once. Headed their way.
