Rematch: Bruiser vs. Ricers, Pt.2
"Oh, trust me, it was stupid.
But it was that special kind of stupid where you look at the situation, you analyze the
situation, and you come to the startling realization that you have to get involved. It is my
hope that my actions taught these teens a lesson.
It had been two days since JD tuned my truck. Other than burning through fuel at a
phenomenal rate, I didn't really get a chance to use my truck to her full potential. I was
running my short route on a Friday, desperately wanting the weekend. I pulled onto one
of my lots.
You have GOT to be focking kidding me. The entire thing was covered in cars. Loud music, flashing lights, it was if bullchit was
attacking all five of my senses. There must have been about 100 teenagers. It was like I
stumbled upon a car club for the mentally challenged. To say that I got looks is like
saying that the Pacific Ocean is damp. It was like I was a Martian that had just crash
landed into their little world. I parked in the middle of them all and hopped out.
Can I help you, sir?
TAKE ME TO YOUR LEADER!
Excuse me, sir?
Christ, knock off the sir chit, I'm 20.
You look a lot older.
I've been living hard. Who is in charge?
I guess that would be Brent. He's up front in the red Civic hatchback.
Thanks for your help. You get to live.
What?!
Nothing.
I hopped back in and rolled over to the red Civic hatchback. It was your standard Ricer
affair. Red paint, huge focking muffler that served no purpose, stickers for things that he
didn't have under the hood, and my personal favorite, gauges that serve no purpose. I
hopped back out and walked up to the biggest douche I've ever seen. This kid had three,
count 'em, three pastel collared shirts.
All of them were popped. I saw those popped collars as a personal insult to everything holy and pure.
You Brent?
Depends.
*exaggerated sigh* Fine, I'll play. What does it depend on?
Who wants to know?
Your friendly neighborhood street sweeper. I'm here to tell you that you, that hunk of
chit you drive, and all of your friends are going to leave.
Excuse me?
I know you're dumb, but are you deaf too, Brent?
Fock off.
No, I don't believe I will.
Do you know who my father is?
Brent, I could give a good goddamn who your father is. I don't care if he's the savior Lord Jesus Christ himself, risen from the dead to deliver us from evil. You're going to leave on way or the other.
I'd like to see you try.
Well, I could make a phone call and have the law run you off. But you know what? I've
got a better idea. I'll race you down Broad, up Main, around the Square, and back out
again. You win, I'll leave you alone for the night. I win, you and your friends hit the
chiting bricks.
You've got to be chitting me.
I may be many things, Scooter, But I most certainly am not chitting you.
You're racing with what? THAT!?
At this point I had rolled down the window and clipped a Jolly Roger window flag to the truck. Har Har Harrrrrrrrrrrr You're nuts. Yeah, pretty much. LET'S GO! The scene was comical. His souped up Civic, my lumbering beast of cleanitude. We were
revving our engines at the exit of the parking lot. A scantily clad young lady walked
between us with a handkerchief. I rolled down my window and tied a red bandanna
around my head.
MWAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa!!!
You're not going to be laughing for very long! I reached over and flipped on my blinky light on top of the truck. Eat chit and die, yuppie scum!
The chick dropped the handkerchief and, once again, the race was on. Due to the weight
differences between the two vehicles, the Civic got the early jump on me. Broad St. is
just as the name implies, Long and wide (how I like my women? Ew).
I dropped the proverbial hammer. I could almost sense the fuel jetting into the engine at a
fast rate. The cold air intake was ramming fresh air to the beast under the hood. I hit 90
and she kept climbing. I was pulling up on his rear quarter panel. We caught the green at
the corner of Broad and Main, and took the sharp left to the square. I then found out that my truck cornered like the HMS Dreadnought and lost some ground. We sped around the square and approached Broad again. Not wanting to be too dangerous, we stopped at a red light.
Wellll, Broad St has three lanes to each side. Scooter was taking up the right most lane, I
was in the middle, and a Police officer pulled up next to me in the left. Because of the
direction he approached and the size of my truck, the poor boy next to me didn't see the
Officer. I revved my engine and looked over at Scooter.
PUSSY!
It was the perfect set up.
He furrowed his brow and stomped on the gas.
Before the light changed.
He tore ass down the road and the Officer was not far behind him. The light turned green
and I rolled slowly by the now pulled over Civic. The officer shot me a wave and went
back to writing the kid a ticket. I pulled back into the lot much to the dismay of his
friends. The general look of the crowd could only be summed up as Shock and Awe.
I started my sweeperly duties with everyone just staring at me.
About 5 minutes later, the cop showed up, lights ablaze, and got over the PA system from the car.
CHILDREN! GO HOME! YOUR LEADER WAS BEATEN BY A STREET
SWEEPER! YOU ARE NOW SHAMED! LEAVE OR BE ARRESTED! I *WILL*
IMPOUND YOUR CHIT!
I was in tears along the curb line. Cars started speeding out and dispersing when the officer pulled up. Hey, nice set up back there. Thanks, I'm here to help keep the streets clean. Nice! Just do me a favor. Next time you go down Broad Street at 3:30 in the morning, let's make sure it's not at 97 miles an hour.
No problem, sir"
