From: lordSnooty@cup.portal.com (Andrew - Palfreyman)
Newsgroups: talk.bizarre
Subject: Re: driving tips
Date: Fri, 16 Oct 92 18:18:04 PDT
Organization: The Portal System (TM)

Lance Norskog writes:
: Obey the person in charge of the animals.

on my way to india overland with a student and gamini gunesekara in the
brand new ford that his rich plantation-owning celanese (then) father had
scored for him. he drives down to the english coast like a cunt, overtaking
on a two-lane full highway using horns and full beam in broad daylight.

two hours into the trip, and it's a straight treelined french road
and he's punishing the brandnew engine at 90 plus. there's a french guy
behind in an aged citroen, just about hacking the pace, but only just.

ahead a pointlike structure begins to resolve itself into a railway
crossing, and already the lights are flashing and the gongs sounding.
gunasekara accelerates. we are still hundreds of metres away. we
tell him he won't make it, and he clamps his jaw and i check the speedo  
at over 100 now. the barriers are descending and we are mere metres from
the tracks.
anchors away! screech and fishtail slightly, we just shudder halted.

a single second of absolute silence and then *crump*.
the back bumper falls off, the left light assembly is smashed out.

the optimistic follower in the citroen couldn't match the braking rate
of our new disks. we buck forward and the fun begins. a detour *way*
over to paris and the joy of finding a garage to fix this during the
esteemed french six- week summer break. finally, time lost in gobbets,
off we set eastwards again.

bulgaria. the only country on the international motor insurance between
britain and turkey which isn't. straight countryfied road, excess speed 
as usual.

ahead a pointlike structure begins to resolve itself into a flock of
sheep plus shepherd, and already he's on high beam and air horns.
gunasekara accelerates. we are mere metres away. we tell him to fucking
can it. the shepherd has espied our maniac, and is frantically shooing
his thirty-or-so-strong flock across the rest of the road. to no avail.

anchors away! screech and fishtail slightly, we plough into the goddam flock.
the shepherd leaps at the car, incoherently screaming bulgarian oaths,
while gunasekara guns it, tossing two more sheep aside, and makes tracks.

nobody speaks. gunasekara accelerates into sophia, just a few miles away.
it begns to pour with the rain, and the smell is beautiful. on the cobbles,
heading downhill to the main "t" with the main drag in the city, gunasekara's 
in some kind of vengeful feverdream and pulls out into heavy traffic and
slams on the brakes to avoid another.

a single second of absolute silence and then *crump*.
the back bumper falls off, the left light assembly is smashed out.

we buck forward and the fun begins. gunasekara wants to do a runner and
gunasekara needs to be told about the bulgarian fuzz. i am the only one
with russian and eventually extract cash from gunasekara with enormous
difficulty. the other guy has just lost two years of bulgarian salary,
and our cunt driver does not, in his studied spoiled insanity, have a
clue what that implies.

we get back into the car. i wind up and punch him in the face. barry
and i tie him up and make sure the nose really is broken. we drive to 
istanbul and i get the fuck out of there.
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| lord snooty @the giant |  Would You Like Space Potatoes With That?       |
| poisoned electric head |              andrew_-_palfreyman@cup.portal.com |
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