rossfashow
06-02-2008, 08:54 PM
LOL I found this on in another forum and thought it was hilarious
So many of you know that my 3000 GT has been sitting in my garage for about 5 years now, cause I’ve been sort of busy. In that time I’ve had to endure all sorts of comments from her like “oh I see, leave me here and drive the 500SL, or “uh huh, so you been out with the Tahoe I see”. Almost like I’m cheating on her or something. And each time I go thru the garage I would walk past her in shame, and mumble “soon baby soon”. The taunting from her got so bad, and the subsequent guilt for me, that I had to park those vehicles in the driveway and sneak in thru the front door quietly. I tried the same ole bull shit like “look at all the things I’ve bought you over the years, how can you say I don’t love you anymore, I just don’t have the money to take you out or to get you running again.” “Didn’t you like the turbos with matching accessories?” You would think that that would account for something right? Wrong. Hell hath no fury like a woman that has been scorned.
Now keep in mind that not only is she broken down, I have been selling off her best parts for years. Bad idea. To the point that now she doesn’t have any more shoes, and is up on jack stands. You would think that having almost everything needed to get her running except for the entire motor would count for something, right. Wrong.
So I told her that the motor was on the way and I just needed to replace the hood locks on the CF hood before the motor is put in because it would be much easier to do. The hood will not lock without them. I was very happy to find the exact same hood locks here in AZ. WOW we were so happy again, and a real team, or so I thought.
So I install the first lock, and then climb inside the engine compartment, and close the hood as far as I can. Who hasn’t done this a thousand times? I am closterphobic but assured myself that I would be ok as this would only take a minute. I was very excited that I was only off by maybe a 1/32”. So I am all crouched over and contorted, then I go to open the hood, and to my sheer amazement it will not open. Well this must be a simple adjustment to the hood lock I just installed, but then the realization sets in that the safety latch has hooked, and I am now trapped inside my engine bay. It actually took me a minute to realize that this bitch was not playing around and she’s got me right where no man wants to be. EVER.
Surely this cant really be happening, I thought. After all this? After all I been thru in the last five years I am really going to die in here? And will the mortuary know that this car cannot be buried without a flatbed? Then the panic sets in until I realize that I have plenty of air if I just breathe in short breaths, because I could in all likelihood be trapped like a cat in fear of the engine starting, and the fan blade shredding me to pieces for a long long long long time. Its not like I could waste any survival energy by moving around much because you know how there is never enough room to work on these cars anyhow. For the first time I wish I had bought a Mustang. Even if I could reach the latch I am sure that I would move it the wrong way anyhow from this direction due to the lack of proper training. I tried for a while. I’ve latched hoods on these cars thousands of times, so it never ever occurred to me that this could ever happen. I actually meant to engage the safety mechanism when I closed the hood as I have a thousand times before.
This car was Import Car of the Year in 1991 but I don’t see any emergency release or a red handle anywhere, if there was I couldn’t see it by now cause its getting dark outside, and impending doom is standing in the corner of my garage right in front of the grim reaper. Well here’s one consumer vote that they won’t be getting.
So I did what goes against every sense of self preservation. I start yelling HELP HELP HELLLLLLLLLLLP from inside my own engine bay. Then I realize that I better only yell every fifteen seconds or I will lose my voice, and if someone shows up I can’t tap a message to them because I don’t know Morse code. If someone did show up they would open the doors, and the trunk, and then leave never thinking to look under the hood, cause nobody is that retarded to lock themselves in the engine bay.
If I had my cell phone and called the fire department to borrow the jaws of life, and even if they took me seriously, they would not have come out to my house before their little buddies in blue cleared the area first. Just how it is. And after I am rescued I really didn’t want to explain to some hottie a year from now that I have a custom hood vent that happens to look like a hatchet hole.
So then I realize it might be a real good idear to negotiate a truce, of course assuming that I have a defensible position in the ordeal, which I will soon realize that I don’t. So I been in there about two minutes and now the insanity of solitary confinement starts to set in.
Then I hear this voice say something in Japanese. The best I could make out of it was “if you go get all that stuff back that you sold of mine I will let you go”. Then I looked over with my dying flashlight (I got the 18 volt the day before they went lithium, it figures) and see an emblem that reads something in Japanese. I bet most of you didn’t know that this emblem was there. Now the little bit of history I know leads me to the epiphany that this town is only a few clicks from Nagasaki. So now I don my imaginary camis and say “I’m an American, remember the last time you messed with us? If you don’t, then call one of your cousins up in Japan and ask them to send you pictures of your ancestors shadows burned into the concrete of downtown Nagasaki, and Hiroshima. RELEASE ME NOW.
That didn’t work either. So I had to bust the hood to get out. Unfuckingbelievable. Then 2 of my neighbors walk up 1 minute later and ask me if I’m ok because they heard my cries for help. I acted stupid and said that it must have been the other neighbors fighting as they always do.
So many of you know that my 3000 GT has been sitting in my garage for about 5 years now, cause I’ve been sort of busy. In that time I’ve had to endure all sorts of comments from her like “oh I see, leave me here and drive the 500SL, or “uh huh, so you been out with the Tahoe I see”. Almost like I’m cheating on her or something. And each time I go thru the garage I would walk past her in shame, and mumble “soon baby soon”. The taunting from her got so bad, and the subsequent guilt for me, that I had to park those vehicles in the driveway and sneak in thru the front door quietly. I tried the same ole bull shit like “look at all the things I’ve bought you over the years, how can you say I don’t love you anymore, I just don’t have the money to take you out or to get you running again.” “Didn’t you like the turbos with matching accessories?” You would think that that would account for something right? Wrong. Hell hath no fury like a woman that has been scorned.
Now keep in mind that not only is she broken down, I have been selling off her best parts for years. Bad idea. To the point that now she doesn’t have any more shoes, and is up on jack stands. You would think that having almost everything needed to get her running except for the entire motor would count for something, right. Wrong.
So I told her that the motor was on the way and I just needed to replace the hood locks on the CF hood before the motor is put in because it would be much easier to do. The hood will not lock without them. I was very happy to find the exact same hood locks here in AZ. WOW we were so happy again, and a real team, or so I thought.
So I install the first lock, and then climb inside the engine compartment, and close the hood as far as I can. Who hasn’t done this a thousand times? I am closterphobic but assured myself that I would be ok as this would only take a minute. I was very excited that I was only off by maybe a 1/32”. So I am all crouched over and contorted, then I go to open the hood, and to my sheer amazement it will not open. Well this must be a simple adjustment to the hood lock I just installed, but then the realization sets in that the safety latch has hooked, and I am now trapped inside my engine bay. It actually took me a minute to realize that this bitch was not playing around and she’s got me right where no man wants to be. EVER.
Surely this cant really be happening, I thought. After all this? After all I been thru in the last five years I am really going to die in here? And will the mortuary know that this car cannot be buried without a flatbed? Then the panic sets in until I realize that I have plenty of air if I just breathe in short breaths, because I could in all likelihood be trapped like a cat in fear of the engine starting, and the fan blade shredding me to pieces for a long long long long time. Its not like I could waste any survival energy by moving around much because you know how there is never enough room to work on these cars anyhow. For the first time I wish I had bought a Mustang. Even if I could reach the latch I am sure that I would move it the wrong way anyhow from this direction due to the lack of proper training. I tried for a while. I’ve latched hoods on these cars thousands of times, so it never ever occurred to me that this could ever happen. I actually meant to engage the safety mechanism when I closed the hood as I have a thousand times before.
This car was Import Car of the Year in 1991 but I don’t see any emergency release or a red handle anywhere, if there was I couldn’t see it by now cause its getting dark outside, and impending doom is standing in the corner of my garage right in front of the grim reaper. Well here’s one consumer vote that they won’t be getting.
So I did what goes against every sense of self preservation. I start yelling HELP HELP HELLLLLLLLLLLP from inside my own engine bay. Then I realize that I better only yell every fifteen seconds or I will lose my voice, and if someone shows up I can’t tap a message to them because I don’t know Morse code. If someone did show up they would open the doors, and the trunk, and then leave never thinking to look under the hood, cause nobody is that retarded to lock themselves in the engine bay.
If I had my cell phone and called the fire department to borrow the jaws of life, and even if they took me seriously, they would not have come out to my house before their little buddies in blue cleared the area first. Just how it is. And after I am rescued I really didn’t want to explain to some hottie a year from now that I have a custom hood vent that happens to look like a hatchet hole.
So then I realize it might be a real good idear to negotiate a truce, of course assuming that I have a defensible position in the ordeal, which I will soon realize that I don’t. So I been in there about two minutes and now the insanity of solitary confinement starts to set in.
Then I hear this voice say something in Japanese. The best I could make out of it was “if you go get all that stuff back that you sold of mine I will let you go”. Then I looked over with my dying flashlight (I got the 18 volt the day before they went lithium, it figures) and see an emblem that reads something in Japanese. I bet most of you didn’t know that this emblem was there. Now the little bit of history I know leads me to the epiphany that this town is only a few clicks from Nagasaki. So now I don my imaginary camis and say “I’m an American, remember the last time you messed with us? If you don’t, then call one of your cousins up in Japan and ask them to send you pictures of your ancestors shadows burned into the concrete of downtown Nagasaki, and Hiroshima. RELEASE ME NOW.
That didn’t work either. So I had to bust the hood to get out. Unfuckingbelievable. Then 2 of my neighbors walk up 1 minute later and ask me if I’m ok because they heard my cries for help. I acted stupid and said that it must have been the other neighbors fighting as they always do.