On Thu, 12 Jul 2012 22:07:54 -0700 "Jerry Herrman" <jer...@san.rr.com>
wrote:
> Are there any good Mercedes jokes?
Someone posted this a few years ago:
I took a ride in my venerable old '83 Mercedes 240D last night!
I took a ride in my venerable old '83 Mercedes 240D last night. Two point
four litres of raw power, 4 cylinders of asphalt-tearing terror with 67
rompin', stompin' horse power at my beck and call. It's stock, all right,
nothing done to it, but it pushes the 3200 pounds of German engineering
around with AUTHORITY. I'm always catching mopeds and 18-wheelers by
surprise...
I was headed back from Baskin Robbins with my manly triple-latte
cappuccino blast ("No Cinnamon, ma'am, I take it BLACK), when I stopped
at a streetlight. As the "D" rattled its throaty idle around me, I sipped
my bold beverage and wiped the white froth my stiff upper lip. I was
minding my own business, when I heard a rev from the next lane. I turned,
made eye contact, then let my eyes trace over the competition. Geo Metro
-- a late model, could be trouble. Low profile tires, curb feelers, and
schoolbus-yellow paint. Yep, a hot rod, for sure.
The howl of his motor snapped my reverie, and I looked back into the
driver's eyes, nodded, then blipped my own throttle (Rattle Rattle!!). As
I tugged on my driving gloves and slipped on my sunglasses (gotta look
cool to be fast, and I am really cool, hence...), the night was split
with the sound of seven screaming cylinders...
Then the light turned... I almost had him out of the hole, my four
pounding cylinders thrusting me at least a millimeter back into my seat,
as smoke pouring from exhaust pipe... I'd let it sit and idle too long! I
saw in the corner of my eyes, a yellow snout gaining, and I heard the
roar of his three cylinders. He slung by me, right front wheel juddering
against the pavement, and he flashed me a smile as his gasoline powered
1.1 liters of motor stretched its legs. I turned off my AC to gain 10%
more power and kept my foot gamely in it. Then I saw a glimpse of chrome
under his bumper, and knew the ugly truth...
He was running a custom exhaust --probably a 1.5-into-1 dual exhaust...
maybe even cutouts! The old lady passing us on the crosswalk cast a dirty
look in our boy-racer direction... Yet still I persisted, with my four
pumping pistons singing a steady, deep, diesel song, wound fully out.
Though only a few handsful of seconds had passed, we were nearing the
crosswalk at the other side of the intersection, and I heard the note of
his engine change as he made his shift to second, and I saw his grin in
his rearview mirror fade as he missed the shift! I rocketed by! Not ready
to give up so easily, he left his foot in it, revving, and I heard one
wheel *almost* chirp as he finally found second and dropped the clutch.
We careened over the crosswalk, now going at least 15 miles per hour. A
bicyclist passed us, but intent on the race as we were, neither of us
batted an eye.
I was waiting for the first dot on the speedometer to tell me to shift
(no tachometer here!). Shifting, I nursed the clutch gently to keep from
bogging, keeping my motor spinning hot and pulling me ahead, now trailing
a cloud of stinking clutch smoke, no that's diesel exhaust again...
He pulled slowly abreast of me, and neck and neck, I shifted into third
at 38 MPH - a little early, but better safe than sorry. The scream of
motors deafening all pedestrians within a five foot circle. He nosed
ahead as we passed 42 miles an hour, then eased in front of me, taunting,
as he shifted into fourth. I decided to keep my car in third, counting on
the ability to pump out the power at higher speeds and lower gears. I was
staring up the dual 6" chrome tips of his exhaust, snarling, my
cappuccino forgotten, as he lifted a little to take the next corner.
I saw my opportunity, and counting on the innate agility of my trusty
steed, I pulled wide into the number two lane and kept my foot buried in
carpet. Slowly, I inched around him, feeling my German Diesel roll slowly
to the left as I came abreast in the midst of this gradual sweeping
turn. I felt the front start to push a little, so I added more power
only to realize that was all I had! But, I saw the right rear wheel lift
on the Metro and realized he had reached his limit! Slowly I gained on
him through the outside of the turn passing him with ease!!!
The Metro driver beat his wheel in rage as my car eased past him on the
outside, my P175/R14's screaming in protest, as we raced to the next
light. We coasted down, neck-and neck, to the red light. I tightened my
driving gloves, ready for another round, when this WIMP in the next car
meekly flipped his turn signal and made a right. MB superiority reigns!!!
I drove off sipping my masculine drink, awash in my sheer virility,
looking for other unwitting targets.... Perhaps a Yugo, or maybe even a
Volkswagon Van!
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