12/25/2018
The bars closed and the “misfits”, who were in no hurry to get snapped up by sexy, conniving females driven to latch onto an unsuspecting male, left the tavern at 2AM. They headed out to a residential area bordered by preagreed limits. Usually, a half a square mile. They left in 1-minute intervals to find their territory and patrol like mako sharks, venturing into alleys and up and down neighborhood streets. Encountering a set of headlights, care was taken to assess the opponent in case it was a drunk going home to his unloved ones or worse yet, a cop. Timing was important. If a hassle-free area was required, a trip to the local phone booth was in order to drop a dime on some nonexistent felony that was taking place in this police district. Watching donut stuffing cops speed across town with their lights on guaranteed 30 minutes of uninterrupted fun. Standard procedure dictated that you drive along with your lights off to gain a stealthy advantage. Some used noise tactics to intimidate their foe by pushing metal garbage cans ahead of their BEATER to increase the terror factor. Business dumpsters coming at you with no visible car would scare the hell out of an opponent. Once a sighting was made with the real enemy, it was full speed ahead. You would never hit head on because you would trash your radiator and it was curtains in 3 minutes. Fender hits took out the headlights, but nobody had them on anyway. The best hits were using your ass end to T-Bone an opponent into the passenger side and collapse his doors, forcing him into the curb and breaking his tie rod. After that you might as well throw your steering wheel away. With time, skill sets improved and your bashed in, heavy Caddy gets you home and to work in the morning. Your coworkers look at your ride and wondered what the hell happened to you. A code of silence prevents you from revealing your superhero status and you make it through the whole workday, laughing relentlessly.
Torked Truth 