Mr Joshua
11-04-2003, 08:20 PM
i found this on corral.net awhile back... quite funny
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The Cure For The Ricer Fly-By
We have all experienced it at one point or another by now. Some choad in a tricked out import comes farting past you long after a contest of speed has ended (if one even took place) and toggles his hazard lights to signify his "victory".
Most of us ignore it and others of us proceed to trounce them soundly for their insolence. But the dilema has always been the knowledge that said ricer probably scurries back to vtecbadass.com or his closest clique of ricer buddies and tells them of his conquest -- carefully omitting the part about getting owned in return.
This morning, while watching a Bi And The Curious wingmobile making his move in my rearview mirror, inspiration struck. Yes, the heavens parted and an angelic chorus sang as the pure genius of my revelation began to sink into my caffeine deprived brain.
The answer?
STEAL IT FROM THEM
That's right. Steal it from them. When a ricer trys to give you the fly by, pull the carpet right out from under his feet. So here's what happened in my situation...
I was entering the Interstate highway that I use for my daily commute when I noticed this kid in a riced-out Honda accord trying to insert himself into my tailpipes. Apparently the string of cars in front of me moving at 40mph and the typical fashion of Interstate traffic not allowing us an ingress onto the highway did nothing to phase him. I should be moving faster than that so why the #$%& wasn't I?
As we finally get a break in the traffic and begin merging onto the highway, I throw my left blinker on and prepare to accelerate into the faster moving lanes and get out of the tangle of slower moving, timid drivers. I check the sideview mirror as I make my move and see Honda boy cutting out from behind me, trying to zip past and box me in. Bastard.
Now one thing that I have learned about driving in rush hour traffic around a large city is that the right of way belongs to those who are bold enough to seize it. It is literally a case of "if you snooze, you lose" and I don't like losing.
So I quickly assess Honda boy's progress and determine that he hasn't quite got the oomph to overtake me yet, so I proceed with my plan and merge over into the faster moving lanes. Yes, I darted in front of him but it honestly never affected his progress. I was well into the 60 - 70mph speed bracket and under moderate throttle. In other words, I didn't just putz over into his lane and bumble along impeding his progress.
Well, that's not cool with him. I see him in the rearview mirror giving me a good cussing and showing the "You're #1!" sign with both hands. Not a hand on the steering wheel. Oh, the temptation to just tag the brakes and watch him scramble for a grip on the wheel... but alas, I restrained myself. Too many other people on the road for that, but yeah it would have been hella funny.
As we continue along, we break out of the pack of traffic and I quickly put some distance on him by running it up to about 95mph and then back off. He's a good 1/16 mile back and no longer a concern, so I settle into a more leisurely speed of 75mph and fire up the Kenwood for some road music.
Wrong. Here he comes again, trying to salvage his pride and defend the honor of Hondas everywhere.
I catch a motion in the corner of my eye and note that the Accord (wing and all) are coming up hard and fast on my right hand side, hell bent to show me who's who. As he pulls along side, I see chump nugget perched in a forward-tilted fashion, backwards upside down sunvisor on his head and a whole lot of trash coming out of his pie hole. It was amusing to see such a sad little fascimilie of Eminem giving me such a generous portion of his small little mind.
That's when the inspiration struck. All of the warning signs were there... it was going to be the ricer fly by. He had his hand on the hazard light switch and a woodrow in his shorts for taking down a Mustang. My usual resolve to not take the bait just wasn't with me this time, so I made the snap decision to steal his fly-by. Oh yes! This was going to be suuuuwheeeet.
As his rear wheels get even with my front wheels, I pull my foot off the gas for just a brief moment -- long enough to let me whip in behind him -- and then I mat the accelerator. Now you see me, now you don't!
I gain ground quick and the GT is sucking cold, dense morning air down it's throat like a Rotweiller ingesting Alpo. The slushbox tranny grabs for overdrive as I signal for a lane change and now dart from behind the Honda to his passenger side (four lane highway, folks) and blast past him in a roar of American V8 power courtesy of the Bassani not-so Quiet Thunder exhaust.
90mph becomes 100mph and dude is way the hell behind me, flogging his gerbils for all they are worth. It's futile, of course, but Slim Shady kept his foot in it trying like mad to prevent the inevitable from happening.
I can only imagine how badly it must have stung when my GT ... a 1998 model, one of the notoriously slow 4.6L cars ... upended his fly-by and merged back into his lane a few car lengths ahead in the triple digits.
Did I throw on the hazard lights, you may be asking yourself? Nope. There's some things I just won't stoop to.
A couple of miles up the road, Honda boy finally catches back up as we encounter some congested traffic and he's giving me an even bigger cussing. I just ball my fist up and rub it into my eye, bottom lip stuck out ... the same way I make my kids feel silly when they are giving me a pouting fit.
"You're #1 buddy!" he shows me again with that friendly gesture of a middle finger jutting from a fist extended out his open window.
Yeah baby... you know it. Got torque?
-Tungsten
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~J
---------------------------------------------------------------------------
The Cure For The Ricer Fly-By
We have all experienced it at one point or another by now. Some choad in a tricked out import comes farting past you long after a contest of speed has ended (if one even took place) and toggles his hazard lights to signify his "victory".
Most of us ignore it and others of us proceed to trounce them soundly for their insolence. But the dilema has always been the knowledge that said ricer probably scurries back to vtecbadass.com or his closest clique of ricer buddies and tells them of his conquest -- carefully omitting the part about getting owned in return.
This morning, while watching a Bi And The Curious wingmobile making his move in my rearview mirror, inspiration struck. Yes, the heavens parted and an angelic chorus sang as the pure genius of my revelation began to sink into my caffeine deprived brain.
The answer?
STEAL IT FROM THEM
That's right. Steal it from them. When a ricer trys to give you the fly by, pull the carpet right out from under his feet. So here's what happened in my situation...
I was entering the Interstate highway that I use for my daily commute when I noticed this kid in a riced-out Honda accord trying to insert himself into my tailpipes. Apparently the string of cars in front of me moving at 40mph and the typical fashion of Interstate traffic not allowing us an ingress onto the highway did nothing to phase him. I should be moving faster than that so why the #$%& wasn't I?
As we finally get a break in the traffic and begin merging onto the highway, I throw my left blinker on and prepare to accelerate into the faster moving lanes and get out of the tangle of slower moving, timid drivers. I check the sideview mirror as I make my move and see Honda boy cutting out from behind me, trying to zip past and box me in. Bastard.
Now one thing that I have learned about driving in rush hour traffic around a large city is that the right of way belongs to those who are bold enough to seize it. It is literally a case of "if you snooze, you lose" and I don't like losing.
So I quickly assess Honda boy's progress and determine that he hasn't quite got the oomph to overtake me yet, so I proceed with my plan and merge over into the faster moving lanes. Yes, I darted in front of him but it honestly never affected his progress. I was well into the 60 - 70mph speed bracket and under moderate throttle. In other words, I didn't just putz over into his lane and bumble along impeding his progress.
Well, that's not cool with him. I see him in the rearview mirror giving me a good cussing and showing the "You're #1!" sign with both hands. Not a hand on the steering wheel. Oh, the temptation to just tag the brakes and watch him scramble for a grip on the wheel... but alas, I restrained myself. Too many other people on the road for that, but yeah it would have been hella funny.
As we continue along, we break out of the pack of traffic and I quickly put some distance on him by running it up to about 95mph and then back off. He's a good 1/16 mile back and no longer a concern, so I settle into a more leisurely speed of 75mph and fire up the Kenwood for some road music.
Wrong. Here he comes again, trying to salvage his pride and defend the honor of Hondas everywhere.
I catch a motion in the corner of my eye and note that the Accord (wing and all) are coming up hard and fast on my right hand side, hell bent to show me who's who. As he pulls along side, I see chump nugget perched in a forward-tilted fashion, backwards upside down sunvisor on his head and a whole lot of trash coming out of his pie hole. It was amusing to see such a sad little fascimilie of Eminem giving me such a generous portion of his small little mind.
That's when the inspiration struck. All of the warning signs were there... it was going to be the ricer fly by. He had his hand on the hazard light switch and a woodrow in his shorts for taking down a Mustang. My usual resolve to not take the bait just wasn't with me this time, so I made the snap decision to steal his fly-by. Oh yes! This was going to be suuuuwheeeet.
As his rear wheels get even with my front wheels, I pull my foot off the gas for just a brief moment -- long enough to let me whip in behind him -- and then I mat the accelerator. Now you see me, now you don't!
I gain ground quick and the GT is sucking cold, dense morning air down it's throat like a Rotweiller ingesting Alpo. The slushbox tranny grabs for overdrive as I signal for a lane change and now dart from behind the Honda to his passenger side (four lane highway, folks) and blast past him in a roar of American V8 power courtesy of the Bassani not-so Quiet Thunder exhaust.
90mph becomes 100mph and dude is way the hell behind me, flogging his gerbils for all they are worth. It's futile, of course, but Slim Shady kept his foot in it trying like mad to prevent the inevitable from happening.
I can only imagine how badly it must have stung when my GT ... a 1998 model, one of the notoriously slow 4.6L cars ... upended his fly-by and merged back into his lane a few car lengths ahead in the triple digits.
Did I throw on the hazard lights, you may be asking yourself? Nope. There's some things I just won't stoop to.
A couple of miles up the road, Honda boy finally catches back up as we encounter some congested traffic and he's giving me an even bigger cussing. I just ball my fist up and rub it into my eye, bottom lip stuck out ... the same way I make my kids feel silly when they are giving me a pouting fit.
"You're #1 buddy!" he shows me again with that friendly gesture of a middle finger jutting from a fist extended out his open window.
Yeah baby... you know it. Got torque?
-Tungsten
------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
~J