https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=t7gmbQ8KxM4
I can’t manage to drive to the corner store without crashing into something, and this guy does his entire route in 20 minutes without lifting his foot off the gas. I imagine that he drives the same way when he’s making a beer run or taking the kids to school. He drives fast enough to go back in time and pick himself up.
Cars are tricky things. I’ve driven them from time to time. I find that they’re ornery beasts that cannot be trusted. If I ever see a car, I try to walk the other way and avoid it entirely. They don’t have it in for me or anything, they simply spook me. I haven’t been in any car crashes or had any traumatic experiences with cars that I can remember. I just have an inherent distrust for all types of automobiles. I think it all stems from the one time I tried to purchase a car.
I really don’t know what all the hubbub is about; this is what the average run to the corner store for milk, cigarettes, and porn looks like when I’m driving. I typically crash a lot more than he did, I won’t give them the satisfaction of impressing a mildly pretentious jerk who lives in his Mom’s basement and eats Chef Boyardee ravioli out of a can while sitting semi-nude, basking in the warm glow of his CRT monitor. I think my problem is that I don’t have someone shouting instructions into my ear before every turn. When my Mom comes along she gives me pointers like “Watch out for that tree!” and “Slow down, you psychotic little cretin.”, but I don’t think those are the same as real racing instructions.
To be honest I think we’d both be better off if we didn’t have anyone barking instructions at us to begin with. It’s not like they mean anything, anyways. When you’re going over a hill, sideways at 90 MPH, who has time to figure out what “55 triple left hook; steady straight 300, 22, 88.” means? At that point, I’d be a lot more concerned with avoiding that nasty patch of spectators and trees in front of me than skirting some bushes half a mile up the road.
Back in 1982, “Group B” rules were introduced for rally car races. Group A was basically a stock car, with lots of limits on power and modifications. Group B was a Katie-Bar-The-Door, let it rip, hold my drink and watch this blast.
The spectators got into the spirit of Group B. Why let the drivers have all the fun? They wandered all over the racecourses like lemmings and took photographs while the mirrors of the cars scratched their belt buckles and the tires ran over their feet. It was glorious. But like all wonderful things, some Debbie Downers got all upset about all the dead and injured people littering the racecourses, and whined about it. Before 1987 rolled around, Group B races were cancelled, and Group A rules were all there were.
Stupid dead people’s families are always ruining everything for everyone. It’s getting so I can’t even buy lawn darts at a yard sale anymore.