NE NJ local meets on Tuesday nights
03-13-2010, 05:06 PM
if your not 1st your last
packing for my trip to FL
and CSI Miami is on, never watch this crap but first 5sec has a Fd widebody (re kit) vs a Ae86 (LHD) then some riced our eclipse dude pulls a stunt out the sunroof and gets decaped LOL
episode is named high octane, there is this hot Green FC fly by.
and CSI Miami is on, never watch this crap but first 5sec has a Fd widebody (re kit) vs a Ae86 (LHD) then some riced our eclipse dude pulls a stunt out the sunroof and gets decaped LOL
episode is named high octane, there is this hot Green FC fly by.
03-13-2010, 05:32 PM
03-13-2010, 06:04 PM
WAH WAH WAH
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^ I think i can fab something up but it would definitely have to be rear mount...
High Octane the one kels talking about.........http://www.tv.com/video/10508/10508/...-episode?o=tv#
High Octane the one kels talking about.........http://www.tv.com/video/10508/10508/...-episode?o=tv#
Last edited by RX8YA; 03-13-2010 at 06:10 PM.
03-13-2010, 09:12 PM
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i think it's logic things and you see the shape, lower and wider always have good control...
steven
03-13-2010, 09:45 PM
Steve there was a Evo guy who swore his car was wider than the rx8 the other day and Dennis agreed with him. So I did some research and found out our wheel base is wider =]
03-13-2010, 10:32 PM
Actually...the evo X is wider....what you measured omar is the wheelbase, which is the distance from the center of the front wheel to the center of the rear wheel...so the 8 is longer than the evo, but the evo is about 2 inches wider
03-13-2010, 11:35 PM
if your not 1st your last
You are my arch nemisis. I see you wandering around as I go about my IT Computer Nerd business: Tall. Middle Eastern. Pot Belly. We catch each others eye every now and then and give each other a slight nod. I know you, I know what you do and I am on to your games.
I saw you this morning, we made eye contact. You nodded and took another bite of whatever Death-*** producing garbage you fuel up on that makes the bathroom, smell like the inside of a dead monkey's colon, and nodded at me. I got you this time, ****er.
I give you my icey grin and nod back, then hurry back to my office. It's almost noon, and that's the time you like to run to the toilet and preform your daily *** JIHAD on all the people just trying to wash their hands. Maybe in your country there is no commen sense that would tell you that lunch time = hand wash time. People want to get clean and eat, not be fumigated with the high octane liquid **** attack you subjigate them too.
But I got you this time. Yeah ****er I GOT SOMETHING COOKING UP FOR YOU! Two egg sandwiches with cheese. Greasy sausage patties. A couple glasses of Tang. Some leftover Chinese food. A Twix. Root Beer Soda. Some steamed brocoli I had in the fridge. A Hot Pocket with peperonni and cheese. A Chocolate Poptart. And like a cherry on top ... a McDonald's Quaterpounder with cheese.
I never eat this ****, it's all greasy and ****ing nasty, but today is the day I fight back. I go out for a quick mile jog and almsot die. My stomach feels like there are two midgets fighting to the death inside there. I walk back to work, *** clenched tighter than a virgin's thighs at Church.
Great. The hot chick from next door wants to chat. She assumes the sweat on my face and arms is from running. She doesn't realize that it's a cold sweat induced by my severe sphicter trauma. She finally shuts up and I stagger to the Death *** Arena.
You are there already in your favorite stall: The one right next to the ****ing sinks. You stupid, socially retarded ****. Fine. You have yet to begin your daily purge of Middle Eastern *** Stew. I enter the stall next to you and drop my pants in preperation of the upcomming battle.
Your opening slavo is fired: A sloppy wet fart with a solid-shot closer. I laugh and show you the power of Advanced American Foodstuffs.
The tuba fart I unleash echos off the walls and shrinks my waistline about an inch. The guy at the urinal laughs as I slap the wall between you and I and say "Back to YOU, Kajid!". You are silent, I assume you know who I am and that the time has come for us to battle. I know you are summoning your intestinal fortitude for full out war.
You do not dissapoint me.
With a hissing "SSSShhhhhzzzzzzzzz!" you squirt out a deadly spray of *** juice that pollutes the air and makes my head swim. The pisser at the urinal is no longer laughing, he quickly zips up and runs for the door. He did not stop to wash his hands, instead opting to head for the hills. I cover my mouth and nose with my shirt and the black spots dissapear from my vision. My head clears. I am ready.
"AAaaaaaaaRRRRRGGGHHH!" I yell, as I drop Big Tim. That's short for "Big Timber" ... AKA "Mississippi Butt Log".
Quick-fire farts stutter out of my ***, as I push the monster log from the **** Dimension into our reality. The beefy, yeasty stench easily overpowers the Indian *** Gutter oder of your previous attack. Mega Turd hits the water in the bowl with a mighty splash, the reek is that of a dead whale slowly ripening in the hot, tropical sun. I catch my breath and wipe my brow, and start to pat myself on the back. I should have known the battle was not over.
The only thing I can think of is that you must has completly unzipped your *** to your elbow. That's the only way I could begin to explain the lumpy, creamy splashs falling out of your *** into the toilet. It sounds like you are pouring a gallon of strawberry shake with whole strawberries in it into the *******. I see the hairs on my arms start to curl from the horrid stench wafting up from under your stall. I shudder and sway on my throne, unsure if I will survive.
I have no choice. I must employ the Deal Breaker. I hunker down and clench my hands together. My fingers twitch and entwine like a nest of snakes, almost like I am running through a series of ancient Ninja Hand Symbols. My feet lift up onto the toes and my legs start to shake.
"You want to play??" I growls. A low moaning comes from my stomach, like a dinosaur calling into a swampy, foggy night. "YOU GOT IT! AAAAAAHHHHHH!"
Like Cloud summoning The Knights of the Round in Final Fantasy 7, I summon the Excalibur of Turd Demons to destroy my enemy. Hot magma-like **** rockets out of my ***, releasing a noxious, sticky cloud of deadly recal perfume. I hear you gag and see your feet shuffle around, but you can't get away, can you? No. You can't.
Veins throb on my neck and temples as the turd monster tears itself from my bowels. My lips skin back from my now clenched teeth and I try not to scream. Your roll of toilet paper rolls into my stall. You must have torn it from the wall with numb fingers in an attempt to "Wipe and Scoot". Too late. MUCH too late!
Oders pound you with merciless fists: Rotten Fruitcake stuffed with boiled chicken ********. Hammered ****-logs served on a bed of week old white rice. Rosie O'Donnel's racid crotch farts. The smell of your mom's dank, hairy Middle Eastern armpits.
Your stall door bangs open and you stagger out. You take three unsteady steps to the door and can barely open it wide enough to slip out. I laugh at you before you leave. "Yeah! RUN, ****er!" I yell, and laugh again. You say nothing.
It's all over except for the clean up. **** with me again, you **** filled **** Terrorist. Me and my *** will be waiting.
I saw you this morning, we made eye contact. You nodded and took another bite of whatever Death-*** producing garbage you fuel up on that makes the bathroom, smell like the inside of a dead monkey's colon, and nodded at me. I got you this time, ****er.
I give you my icey grin and nod back, then hurry back to my office. It's almost noon, and that's the time you like to run to the toilet and preform your daily *** JIHAD on all the people just trying to wash their hands. Maybe in your country there is no commen sense that would tell you that lunch time = hand wash time. People want to get clean and eat, not be fumigated with the high octane liquid **** attack you subjigate them too.
But I got you this time. Yeah ****er I GOT SOMETHING COOKING UP FOR YOU! Two egg sandwiches with cheese. Greasy sausage patties. A couple glasses of Tang. Some leftover Chinese food. A Twix. Root Beer Soda. Some steamed brocoli I had in the fridge. A Hot Pocket with peperonni and cheese. A Chocolate Poptart. And like a cherry on top ... a McDonald's Quaterpounder with cheese.
I never eat this ****, it's all greasy and ****ing nasty, but today is the day I fight back. I go out for a quick mile jog and almsot die. My stomach feels like there are two midgets fighting to the death inside there. I walk back to work, *** clenched tighter than a virgin's thighs at Church.
Great. The hot chick from next door wants to chat. She assumes the sweat on my face and arms is from running. She doesn't realize that it's a cold sweat induced by my severe sphicter trauma. She finally shuts up and I stagger to the Death *** Arena.
You are there already in your favorite stall: The one right next to the ****ing sinks. You stupid, socially retarded ****. Fine. You have yet to begin your daily purge of Middle Eastern *** Stew. I enter the stall next to you and drop my pants in preperation of the upcomming battle.
Your opening slavo is fired: A sloppy wet fart with a solid-shot closer. I laugh and show you the power of Advanced American Foodstuffs.
The tuba fart I unleash echos off the walls and shrinks my waistline about an inch. The guy at the urinal laughs as I slap the wall between you and I and say "Back to YOU, Kajid!". You are silent, I assume you know who I am and that the time has come for us to battle. I know you are summoning your intestinal fortitude for full out war.
You do not dissapoint me.
With a hissing "SSSShhhhhzzzzzzzzz!" you squirt out a deadly spray of *** juice that pollutes the air and makes my head swim. The pisser at the urinal is no longer laughing, he quickly zips up and runs for the door. He did not stop to wash his hands, instead opting to head for the hills. I cover my mouth and nose with my shirt and the black spots dissapear from my vision. My head clears. I am ready.
"AAaaaaaaaRRRRRGGGHHH!" I yell, as I drop Big Tim. That's short for "Big Timber" ... AKA "Mississippi Butt Log".
Quick-fire farts stutter out of my ***, as I push the monster log from the **** Dimension into our reality. The beefy, yeasty stench easily overpowers the Indian *** Gutter oder of your previous attack. Mega Turd hits the water in the bowl with a mighty splash, the reek is that of a dead whale slowly ripening in the hot, tropical sun. I catch my breath and wipe my brow, and start to pat myself on the back. I should have known the battle was not over.
The only thing I can think of is that you must has completly unzipped your *** to your elbow. That's the only way I could begin to explain the lumpy, creamy splashs falling out of your *** into the toilet. It sounds like you are pouring a gallon of strawberry shake with whole strawberries in it into the *******. I see the hairs on my arms start to curl from the horrid stench wafting up from under your stall. I shudder and sway on my throne, unsure if I will survive.
I have no choice. I must employ the Deal Breaker. I hunker down and clench my hands together. My fingers twitch and entwine like a nest of snakes, almost like I am running through a series of ancient Ninja Hand Symbols. My feet lift up onto the toes and my legs start to shake.
"You want to play??" I growls. A low moaning comes from my stomach, like a dinosaur calling into a swampy, foggy night. "YOU GOT IT! AAAAAAHHHHHH!"
Like Cloud summoning The Knights of the Round in Final Fantasy 7, I summon the Excalibur of Turd Demons to destroy my enemy. Hot magma-like **** rockets out of my ***, releasing a noxious, sticky cloud of deadly recal perfume. I hear you gag and see your feet shuffle around, but you can't get away, can you? No. You can't.
Veins throb on my neck and temples as the turd monster tears itself from my bowels. My lips skin back from my now clenched teeth and I try not to scream. Your roll of toilet paper rolls into my stall. You must have torn it from the wall with numb fingers in an attempt to "Wipe and Scoot". Too late. MUCH too late!
Oders pound you with merciless fists: Rotten Fruitcake stuffed with boiled chicken ********. Hammered ****-logs served on a bed of week old white rice. Rosie O'Donnel's racid crotch farts. The smell of your mom's dank, hairy Middle Eastern armpits.
Your stall door bangs open and you stagger out. You take three unsteady steps to the door and can barely open it wide enough to slip out. I laugh at you before you leave. "Yeah! RUN, ****er!" I yell, and laugh again. You say nothing.
It's all over except for the clean up. **** with me again, you **** filled **** Terrorist. Me and my *** will be waiting.
03-14-2010, 12:25 AM
03-14-2010, 12:31 AM
EDIT : evo wins 1.3inches. Hey but my wheels stick out a extra .75inches from the body so My car is wider lol just playin hahahahaha.
Rx8--------------------- http://www.carpages.co.uk/guide/mazd...dimensions.asp
Evo X------------------ http://www.leftlanenews.com/mitsubis...olution-x.html
Rx8--------------------- http://www.carpages.co.uk/guide/mazd...dimensions.asp
Evo X------------------ http://www.leftlanenews.com/mitsubis...olution-x.html
Last edited by NYC Drift King; 03-14-2010 at 10:51 AM.
03-14-2010, 12:11 PM
WAH WAH WAH
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^ Guys need your help whats the deal with shipping to Canada and what would you recommend using for a payment method to make sure i dont get screwed
03-14-2010, 12:23 PM
F yo couch!
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last time i did it i went through usps, you have to fill out a customs form which is pretty much self explanitory, i believe to give the guy a very small break on shipping you have to write it as the package being a gift
its gona be alot more expensive to ship btw....and i always do my transactions with paypal, its really the safest way
its gona be alot more expensive to ship btw....and i always do my transactions with paypal, its really the safest way