My gymnasium is a never ending supply of automotive douchebaggery. There needs to be a simple rule printed on the keys of trucks like this that just says “asshole, park this shit in the back of the lot”.
O.k. This one was exceptionally difficult for me to handle. I appreciate you probably drive her hard, but why man why?
The car is slightly biased towards oversteer (mostly because of the go cart handling at the front). But not too much, and you can mostly tune that with some front and rear width tire stagger. But at high speeds where a wing would come into play would you need it? Perhaps, but not this monstrosity. Oh someones god fucking no.
And yes, that is a sticker of Darth Vader asking “who’s your daddy?” I also don’t know how I feel about that either.
So you know those big ass metal plates they throw down over giant holes in the street? Ever worry you might fall in one while people say “nah you paranoid”? Well here’s your fears.
During the never ending pile of noise and destruction that is the city’s gas line replacement they left a giant hole on my street with a metal plate over it for days. Now since half the people who cut down it can’t seem to go under 50 mph it was only time until this shit finally happened. After hearing a loud ass crash I walked out to find this. I felt bad for the guy (though I don’t believe for one fucking second he was “on’y going 20”) since he broke his front axle, and hopefully the city will pay for this shit (and charge the fuck out of the contractor that did this).
So with mom stuck hobbling around the house after knee surgery dad and I headed out to check out a pawn shop in Myrtle Beach when we found a random car show and of course had to bust a U. After joking that I’d probably not see a single foreign car my dad brilliantly jokes he’d find more rebel flags and thus started the game of rebel flags vs foreign cars. In the end it was 3-3. Not bad, I thought there’d be a lot less foreign cars.
I assumed this reads “Hey Ferrari kick out that bum Massa and sign this guy!” Which as of this morning apparently only McLaren could read.
It must be nice to live in a country where people actually like F1. The downside was since I was working during the race I was recoding it at home, but had to avoid looking at any TV in the hotel lobby we meet up in that morning since it was playing everywhere. I also had to avoid looking at the huge TV in the bar we went to that night since they where showing the replay there. In the U.S. recording and not seeing the results of a race are as simple as not demanding someone change the channel to the race, and avoiding F1 sites for a day or two.
Still avoiding the race in Mexico was not as bad as that one last year in Bangkok that was halfway done when we walked in, and playing on dozens of sets all behind the girls at the go-go club. Do you know how fucking hard it is to not look up from your table for an hour at a go-go club in bangkok?! The one girl without a TV behind her must have thought I was really in to her, when in fact she was just the default.
To the fuckwad who hit my car and kept going an hour after I left for Mexico, I hope you die a slow long painful as fuck death from syphilis, not the short hail of gunfire I’m sure it will be since the car you where driving was stolen. Your only mistake was doing this before 10am so it was just before that lady who sits on her stoop a few doors down pills kick in for the day and she could still remember a 6 digit license plate number. To your credit though you did this in baltimore so the cops will never give a fuck to find you after you ditch the car.