Damn weatherhas been really nice this winter. This past weekend it was 68 and 67. I decided to take out my cobra that I bought towards the end of last year for $6500.I pulled up to the stop light and all over a sudden I hear this medium high revs,which did not sound like your normal imports. I glanced over and it was a “YOLamBro” He was clad in a backward facing hat, big sunglasses and the top of his Lambo was down. He revved at me again.With my full exhaust which is muffled by Flows. I decided to return friendly fire. “Is that all motor?” the guy asked me. I was like it’s just an ex-flooded cobra.
Given the fact that his shit was a convertible, I doubted he had subframe connectors to stiffen the chassis.
As soon as the lights turned green, he launched hard all 4 tires screeching. I knew it was on. I prefer to start on 2[SUP]nd [/SUP]gear when racing due to the massive amount of torque I can dispense. As soon as I launched my pile of bolts and nuts, I instantly went sideways; thanks to FTBR suspension racing parts, i wasn’t concerned with wheel hop. I have been in this kind of sideways situation a lot of times, either by default or on purpose with the agenda of honing my recovery skills. With my superior driving skills, I started to regulate the torque using my God given traction control module which the species of human being that are non-racers call "the right foot". I finally gain traction. “Wheeeeeeeeeee” the bitch that inhabits the real estate on top of my engine comes to life screaming like there is no tomorrow throughout the 2[SUP]nd[/SUP] gear. However, I had one problem that lay ahead. In order to access 3[SUP]rd[/SUP]gear, I had to deal with the devil that resides between 2[SUP]nd[/SUP] and 3[SUP]rd[/SUP]gear. This son of Lucifer has cost me a lot of races by either not letting get into 3[SUP]rd[/SUP] in a timely manner or just plain locking me out of 3[SUP]rd[/SUP]gear. I used maximum strength as I shifted into 3[SUP]rd[/SUP]; surprisingly I was able to access 3[SUP]rd[/SUP] gear without a hitch. “Oh good,” I thought to myself, the 3[SUP]rd[/SUP]gear devil is on vacation today. By the time I was winding down 3[SUP]rd[/SUP]gearthe lambo was 4 cars ahead of me as we approached stop lights right before enteringthe highway.
So I pulled over next to him as I witnessed the biggest diabolic grin ever recorded on a man’s face. I couldn’t help it, but spit scriptures from the holy book of racing excuses, which ranged from “I did not have traction”, “I missed a gear”,and also “I did not know we were racing”. While I was yapping about all the excuses, I had a trick up my sleeve of something heating up and getting pressurized. I told him I want a 35mph roll race up on the highway, which he agreed to.
On the 3[SUP]rd[/SUP] honk we took off. Surprisingly the gods of traction were with me. Instant traction was bestowed to me. The LamBro had jumped to ½ car length which I quickly cut to 0 car lengths by the later stages of 2[SUP]nd[/SUP]gear. Again, I was able to penetrate the Holy land of 3[SUP]rd[/SUP] gear without any kind of commotion. My shift shock was evident that he had gained ¼ of a car length on me. The bottle came on and I jumped to ½ length lead. I quickly grabbed 4[SUP]th[/SUP] gear, but he closed the gap. By the time I was on top of 4[SUP]th[/SUP] gear I was 1.5 car lengths ahead, and I made sure he had a clear visual of my sump tank with my fuel pumps and my Anti-SS license plates before I prompted to shut it down.
The race was1-1. He demanded that I give him a 55mph roll race. I was like “WTF!” By now my AIT2s were in the 125F area. I did not want to race due to the current temperature situation but I said to hell with it I have a race to win. I did not like the fact that this 55mph roll race was a certified cobra killer due to the fact that it is too high for 2[SUP]nd[/SUP]gear and too low for 3[SUP]rd[/SUP] gear. Either way there was no time to bitch. I quickly brought my rpms to 5500 with the clutch depressed. On the 3[SUP]rd[/SUP]honk I conferred the clutch its American freedom. The greedy spec3 clutch quickly took hostage of the flywheel which transferred maximum power to the rear wheels launching the cobra’s nose in the air in defiance. Over the years I have developed a skill that incorporates drag racing into roll racing, hence why I was able to launch my cobra like a drag car in a roll situation. The bitch on top of the engine went back to her screaming spree. The piercing scream echoed and ricocheted off the highway walls killing all sorts of flying bugs and insects like there is no tomorrow, even my thunderous exhaust system was no match for the scream. As I approached the redline in a crescendo manner,I made an order for 4[SUP]th[/SUP] gear. While I was waiting for the order of 4[SUP]th[/SUP]gear to be processed, LamBro proceeded to bring the race back to door to door. I looked over to my left side and LamBros eyes and mine locked, just like when Dominic Toretto was racing O’Connor. The tension was very intense between him and I. The feeling was magical as everything around us was just a blur. My balls were experiencing a tingling sensation, which was accompanied by an instant boner. And for you faggots out there, it was not a boner towards LamBro, but everything that my body was experiencing at thatmoment. It’s like my sense of hearing got amplified; I could hear every spark plug firing. It’s a feeling that I have never experienced before. We held that stare down for 1.5seconds. The pregnant question was “who has the balls to end this madness” or “Who is gonna be the first one to pussyout” Those options did not suffice for my application of racing and kept the go happy pedal mount on the floor board. At 6001rpms, I decided to contact my creator,” Dear God, please don’t make thisrace go to 5[SUP]th[/SUP]gear” As usual my prayers went unanswered by God, let alone have his only begotten son Jesus Christ aka J.C work overtime to answer prayers. Everybody knows CoBros don’t go to 5[SUP]th[/SUP]gear in race mode unlike the bitchy 5.0Bros. It’s a ****ing curse. I had a race to win, and I was not goingto lose. I glanced over and the LamBro was in stone cold racing face mode.“****me!” I said to myself. “Could this be a 5.0Bro disguised as a LamBro?” I wondered to myself.“No ****ing way, he is too refined to be a 5.0Bro!” I muttered to myself. I decided I was not going to be a pussy like some of myfellow CoBros and I would explore the darkness than engulfs the mystical world of 5[SUP]th[/SUP] gear that has claimed numerous catastrophic failures to transmissions and engines. As my tach reached 6750rpms, I made the quantum leap into the world of 5[SUP]th[/SUP] gear in race mode.“HUH!, that was a smooth shift” I told myself .
By mid 5[SUP]th[/SUP]gear, my bucket of metal was still holding up to the abuse, and it’s a this point that LamBro decided to shut down and i turned my blinker hazards as a symbol of my triumph. By now all my car vitals were on the extreme side of the equation, AIT2s at 160F, Coolant Temp 240F. We pulled over a at a truckers reststop. He was well dressed in an all out “YOBOY” outfit. Even the angels of hell could tell am I was a seasoned CoBro with my left leg being larger than the right leg for obvious reasons. We both exchanged Bro hugs, chatted for a little bit, then exchange out communication digits before we went our separate ways. This is the kind of race when it’s done, you just don’t drive away, this is the kind that the racers are served with accolades and praises, which in return respect is exchanged both ways.
A 2.76 ported eaton and 150 shot is one helluva combo...
Given the fact that his shit was a convertible, I doubted he had subframe connectors to stiffen the chassis.
As soon as the lights turned green, he launched hard all 4 tires screeching. I knew it was on. I prefer to start on 2[SUP]nd [/SUP]gear when racing due to the massive amount of torque I can dispense. As soon as I launched my pile of bolts and nuts, I instantly went sideways; thanks to FTBR suspension racing parts, i wasn’t concerned with wheel hop. I have been in this kind of sideways situation a lot of times, either by default or on purpose with the agenda of honing my recovery skills. With my superior driving skills, I started to regulate the torque using my God given traction control module which the species of human being that are non-racers call "the right foot". I finally gain traction. “Wheeeeeeeeeee” the bitch that inhabits the real estate on top of my engine comes to life screaming like there is no tomorrow throughout the 2[SUP]nd[/SUP] gear. However, I had one problem that lay ahead. In order to access 3[SUP]rd[/SUP]gear, I had to deal with the devil that resides between 2[SUP]nd[/SUP] and 3[SUP]rd[/SUP]gear. This son of Lucifer has cost me a lot of races by either not letting get into 3[SUP]rd[/SUP] in a timely manner or just plain locking me out of 3[SUP]rd[/SUP]gear. I used maximum strength as I shifted into 3[SUP]rd[/SUP]; surprisingly I was able to access 3[SUP]rd[/SUP] gear without a hitch. “Oh good,” I thought to myself, the 3[SUP]rd[/SUP]gear devil is on vacation today. By the time I was winding down 3[SUP]rd[/SUP]gearthe lambo was 4 cars ahead of me as we approached stop lights right before enteringthe highway.
So I pulled over next to him as I witnessed the biggest diabolic grin ever recorded on a man’s face. I couldn’t help it, but spit scriptures from the holy book of racing excuses, which ranged from “I did not have traction”, “I missed a gear”,and also “I did not know we were racing”. While I was yapping about all the excuses, I had a trick up my sleeve of something heating up and getting pressurized. I told him I want a 35mph roll race up on the highway, which he agreed to.
On the 3[SUP]rd[/SUP] honk we took off. Surprisingly the gods of traction were with me. Instant traction was bestowed to me. The LamBro had jumped to ½ car length which I quickly cut to 0 car lengths by the later stages of 2[SUP]nd[/SUP]gear. Again, I was able to penetrate the Holy land of 3[SUP]rd[/SUP] gear without any kind of commotion. My shift shock was evident that he had gained ¼ of a car length on me. The bottle came on and I jumped to ½ length lead. I quickly grabbed 4[SUP]th[/SUP] gear, but he closed the gap. By the time I was on top of 4[SUP]th[/SUP] gear I was 1.5 car lengths ahead, and I made sure he had a clear visual of my sump tank with my fuel pumps and my Anti-SS license plates before I prompted to shut it down.
The race was1-1. He demanded that I give him a 55mph roll race. I was like “WTF!” By now my AIT2s were in the 125F area. I did not want to race due to the current temperature situation but I said to hell with it I have a race to win. I did not like the fact that this 55mph roll race was a certified cobra killer due to the fact that it is too high for 2[SUP]nd[/SUP]gear and too low for 3[SUP]rd[/SUP] gear. Either way there was no time to bitch. I quickly brought my rpms to 5500 with the clutch depressed. On the 3[SUP]rd[/SUP]honk I conferred the clutch its American freedom. The greedy spec3 clutch quickly took hostage of the flywheel which transferred maximum power to the rear wheels launching the cobra’s nose in the air in defiance. Over the years I have developed a skill that incorporates drag racing into roll racing, hence why I was able to launch my cobra like a drag car in a roll situation. The bitch on top of the engine went back to her screaming spree. The piercing scream echoed and ricocheted off the highway walls killing all sorts of flying bugs and insects like there is no tomorrow, even my thunderous exhaust system was no match for the scream. As I approached the redline in a crescendo manner,I made an order for 4[SUP]th[/SUP] gear. While I was waiting for the order of 4[SUP]th[/SUP]gear to be processed, LamBro proceeded to bring the race back to door to door. I looked over to my left side and LamBros eyes and mine locked, just like when Dominic Toretto was racing O’Connor. The tension was very intense between him and I. The feeling was magical as everything around us was just a blur. My balls were experiencing a tingling sensation, which was accompanied by an instant boner. And for you faggots out there, it was not a boner towards LamBro, but everything that my body was experiencing at thatmoment. It’s like my sense of hearing got amplified; I could hear every spark plug firing. It’s a feeling that I have never experienced before. We held that stare down for 1.5seconds. The pregnant question was “who has the balls to end this madness” or “Who is gonna be the first one to pussyout” Those options did not suffice for my application of racing and kept the go happy pedal mount on the floor board. At 6001rpms, I decided to contact my creator,” Dear God, please don’t make thisrace go to 5[SUP]th[/SUP]gear” As usual my prayers went unanswered by God, let alone have his only begotten son Jesus Christ aka J.C work overtime to answer prayers. Everybody knows CoBros don’t go to 5[SUP]th[/SUP]gear in race mode unlike the bitchy 5.0Bros. It’s a ****ing curse. I had a race to win, and I was not goingto lose. I glanced over and the LamBro was in stone cold racing face mode.“****me!” I said to myself. “Could this be a 5.0Bro disguised as a LamBro?” I wondered to myself.“No ****ing way, he is too refined to be a 5.0Bro!” I muttered to myself. I decided I was not going to be a pussy like some of myfellow CoBros and I would explore the darkness than engulfs the mystical world of 5[SUP]th[/SUP] gear that has claimed numerous catastrophic failures to transmissions and engines. As my tach reached 6750rpms, I made the quantum leap into the world of 5[SUP]th[/SUP] gear in race mode.“HUH!, that was a smooth shift” I told myself .
By mid 5[SUP]th[/SUP]gear, my bucket of metal was still holding up to the abuse, and it’s a this point that LamBro decided to shut down and i turned my blinker hazards as a symbol of my triumph. By now all my car vitals were on the extreme side of the equation, AIT2s at 160F, Coolant Temp 240F. We pulled over a at a truckers reststop. He was well dressed in an all out “YOBOY” outfit. Even the angels of hell could tell am I was a seasoned CoBro with my left leg being larger than the right leg for obvious reasons. We both exchanged Bro hugs, chatted for a little bit, then exchange out communication digits before we went our separate ways. This is the kind of race when it’s done, you just don’t drive away, this is the kind that the racers are served with accolades and praises, which in return respect is exchanged both ways.
A 2.76 ported eaton and 150 shot is one helluva combo...
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op: This will get interesting.
