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*Theme from The Negotiator plays*
Six months ago, Special Reserve's very own Mr Snuggly went undercover to infiltrate a gang so infamous, so dangerous, so rebellious that even the police dare not go near them. I am, of course, referring to "rude boys". Pathetic young men who try to make up for the size of their manhood by doing stuff to their cars. This is his story. Sort of like The Fast And The Furious, but with a plot.
Day 1 -
Well, I managed to spend all my wages and get a souped up Corsa. Also invested in a bright orange shirt and a baseball cap. With an angry scowl on my face, it's scary how much I look like one of them. Frightened the post man, so I know my disguise must be authentic.
Day 2 -
Found a group of them hanging around ASDA, driving around in circles. Had to hide the look of sheer confusion on my face, and act hard. Managed to get talking to one of them about his spoiler... or something. He introduced me to the gang. They don't have an official leader, but they all respect, or are scared of, Steve. Big Steve is 6"2 and has two GCSEs, making him their intellectual superior. They look up to him, but are also afraid of crossing him. He once shot someone with an air gun, and bought a porno mag when he was 14. You can't make up stuff like that, he's the real deal!
Day 3 -
Steve is suspicious of me, I know this. As they all waffled on about Max Power magazine and their twin turbo what's its, he noticed I wasn't paying attention. To be honest, my brain had shut down from the bravado that was bombarding my senses. I told him I'd been in a car crash when I was 13, driving a get-away car from a bank heist, and that ever since I had a blank expression on my face. He pondered this for a moment, before declaring "Ha ha, what's this? South Park, like?" The sheer randomness of this frightened me... The lights are on, but the owner is out taking a slash around the back.
Day 4 -
Big race today. Three laps around the block. Extra points for hitting a dog or small child. Steve's the favourite to win. The gang stay in contact with each other via mobile phones, the only things they care about almost as much as their cars. Their 17 year old girlfriends lined the street, with their two year old children. The more kids you have, the more respect you have. Rumour has it that Steve has 23 kids up and down the coast. Mucho respecto to him from the gang.
The gang put on their transfer tattoos and revved their engines. It was a sea of bright yellow and green cars. I wasn't allowed to race, as I didn't have a criminal record, and therefore wasn't one of the "elders." Only the elders are allowed to race, the rest of us just watch until we're accepted. To become accepted, you have to endure the tests. You're stripped naked and tied to a lamppost outside a primary school, if you last an hour without being arrested, you're in. If you fail, you try again the next day. Upon acceptance, you're given a bright pink furry dice for your car, some new alloys and a lifetime subscription to Max Power.
The race was called off when a traffic warden came by and gave us a funny look. "The filth are here!" they all screamed, and the entire collection of under 18s who were lined up left in a hurry. We'll try again tomorrow, at noon.
Day 4 -
The race was a go today. Steve was winning until he stopped outside the school to impress the 14 year olds. The fact that he shaves once a month makes him a rebel to them. Some guy called Wayne won the race, but was beaten up for it. Turns out this was his prize... pretty savage, but it's a dog eat dog world. After the race, we went to the only pub we could all get served in, and spent the night drinking LCL and Smirnoff Ice. Real manly drinks, for real men. I poured mine down the toilet and ordered a pint of Fosters when nobody was watching.
Day 5 -
Most amazing thing happened today, Steve was challenged as un-official leader of the gang. Some hot shot called Darren, with a stripey jumper, decided the era of Steve was over. This guy's on a modern apprenticeship, so not only did he have money, but also knows how to hit stuff with a hammer. The gang surrounded the two, and they circled each other. I hummed the Star Trek battle theme, but nobody knew what it was. Once again, my clever wit is lost on cretins. The two potential rulers charged at each other. Darren is small and stocky, Steve is big and powerful. They slapped each other, pulled each other's hair and tried to gauge each other's eyes out. They put professional cat fighters to shame. Steve kneed Darren in the never-regions and he went down with a scream so high pitched only dogs could hear it. Steve was still king of the hill, and for his victory he could have his choice of underage female tonight. Kudos to him.
Day 6 -
Big day today, a rival gang have decided they want the ASDA car park. Steve passed out chains and bottles (to be broken) and gave us a Braveheart style speech.
"'Ere, these lads, yeah? They wanna take our 'ood, yeah? An' that can't happen, like, because this is OUR 'ood!"
The gang erupted in a huge cheer. Not exactly Martin Luther King, but he certainly got them rallied behind him. Our advanced scouts spotted our rivals next to the chip shop. We drove down, blasting god-awful dance music out of our systems. No doubt to scare them away. Twenty of us, twenty of them. We lined up, facing each other, like something out of The Warriors. Steve raised his chain wrapped fist and screamed, charging at the enemy. This was our cue to follow, and like sheep both sides ran at each other. I hung back, holding my ankle, feigning injury.
The battle was intense. Heads were busted, skulls were cracked, noses were broken. In the end it came down to Steve against their leader, some yeti resembling bloke who was obviously almost thirty. Steve was taking a beating, but I decided to help him out. I'd been with them 24 hours a day for almost a week, and had sort of bonded to them... in a Neanderthal way. I tripped the bloke up and Steve proceeded to kick him into a coma.
"That'll year ya!" he proclaimed. Too bad he couldn't hear him.
Day 7 -
Continued the celebrating, running through the streets, declaring to the shop owners that we owned the property. Wonder what the mafia would have to say about that. Free tabs were handed out, and sparked up with cheap disposable lighters.
I'd seen enough. I actually found myself being slightly interested in fast car magazines, driving over the limit down busy roads and talking about engines. I knew I had to get out, before I passed the point of no return and changed my name to "Micky". But I needed a good story, something that could get me out without suspicion. So I told them my dad was sick of me missing school and had confiscated my car. They all understood, and were sorry to see me go.
I know now why they do it. Why they speed, why they feel the need to have a bigger and better engine than somebody who honestly doesn't care about their car any further than if it gets them from A to B. Why they drink crappy beer, smoke cheap cigarettes, listen to the lowest form of entertainment - dance music. It's because they're rebelling against a system that doesn't want them. Society has turned it's back on them, so they're turning their back on society. They make their own rules, they have their own laws. They do it because they're accepted here, in this violent world of life size posters of topless women. It gives their lives meaning, gives them a sense of belonging.
Actually, I'm lying. They do it because they're sad.
Six months ago, Special Reserve's very own Mr Snuggly went undercover to infiltrate a gang so infamous, so dangerous, so rebellious that even the police dare not go near them. I am, of course, referring to "rude boys". Pathetic young men who try to make up for the size of their manhood by doing stuff to their cars. This is his story. Sort of like The Fast And The Furious, but with a plot.
Day 1 -
Well, I managed to spend all my wages and get a souped up Corsa. Also invested in a bright orange shirt and a baseball cap. With an angry scowl on my face, it's scary how much I look like one of them. Frightened the post man, so I know my disguise must be authentic.
Day 2 -
Found a group of them hanging around ASDA, driving around in circles. Had to hide the look of sheer confusion on my face, and act hard. Managed to get talking to one of them about his spoiler... or something. He introduced me to the gang. They don't have an official leader, but they all respect, or are scared of, Steve. Big Steve is 6"2 and has two GCSEs, making him their intellectual superior. They look up to him, but are also afraid of crossing him. He once shot someone with an air gun, and bought a porno mag when he was 14. You can't make up stuff like that, he's the real deal!
Day 3 -
Steve is suspicious of me, I know this. As they all waffled on about Max Power magazine and their twin turbo what's its, he noticed I wasn't paying attention. To be honest, my brain had shut down from the bravado that was bombarding my senses. I told him I'd been in a car crash when I was 13, driving a get-away car from a bank heist, and that ever since I had a blank expression on my face. He pondered this for a moment, before declaring "Ha ha, what's this? South Park, like?" The sheer randomness of this frightened me... The lights are on, but the owner is out taking a slash around the back.
Day 4 -
Big race today. Three laps around the block. Extra points for hitting a dog or small child. Steve's the favourite to win. The gang stay in contact with each other via mobile phones, the only things they care about almost as much as their cars. Their 17 year old girlfriends lined the street, with their two year old children. The more kids you have, the more respect you have. Rumour has it that Steve has 23 kids up and down the coast. Mucho respecto to him from the gang.
The gang put on their transfer tattoos and revved their engines. It was a sea of bright yellow and green cars. I wasn't allowed to race, as I didn't have a criminal record, and therefore wasn't one of the "elders." Only the elders are allowed to race, the rest of us just watch until we're accepted. To become accepted, you have to endure the tests. You're stripped naked and tied to a lamppost outside a primary school, if you last an hour without being arrested, you're in. If you fail, you try again the next day. Upon acceptance, you're given a bright pink furry dice for your car, some new alloys and a lifetime subscription to Max Power.
The race was called off when a traffic warden came by and gave us a funny look. "The filth are here!" they all screamed, and the entire collection of under 18s who were lined up left in a hurry. We'll try again tomorrow, at noon.
Day 4 -
The race was a go today. Steve was winning until he stopped outside the school to impress the 14 year olds. The fact that he shaves once a month makes him a rebel to them. Some guy called Wayne won the race, but was beaten up for it. Turns out this was his prize... pretty savage, but it's a dog eat dog world. After the race, we went to the only pub we could all get served in, and spent the night drinking LCL and Smirnoff Ice. Real manly drinks, for real men. I poured mine down the toilet and ordered a pint of Fosters when nobody was watching.
Day 5 -
Most amazing thing happened today, Steve was challenged as un-official leader of the gang. Some hot shot called Darren, with a stripey jumper, decided the era of Steve was over. This guy's on a modern apprenticeship, so not only did he have money, but also knows how to hit stuff with a hammer. The gang surrounded the two, and they circled each other. I hummed the Star Trek battle theme, but nobody knew what it was. Once again, my clever wit is lost on cretins. The two potential rulers charged at each other. Darren is small and stocky, Steve is big and powerful. They slapped each other, pulled each other's hair and tried to gauge each other's eyes out. They put professional cat fighters to shame. Steve kneed Darren in the never-regions and he went down with a scream so high pitched only dogs could hear it. Steve was still king of the hill, and for his victory he could have his choice of underage female tonight. Kudos to him.
Day 6 -
Big day today, a rival gang have decided they want the ASDA car park. Steve passed out chains and bottles (to be broken) and gave us a Braveheart style speech.
"'Ere, these lads, yeah? They wanna take our 'ood, yeah? An' that can't happen, like, because this is OUR 'ood!"
The gang erupted in a huge cheer. Not exactly Martin Luther King, but he certainly got them rallied behind him. Our advanced scouts spotted our rivals next to the chip shop. We drove down, blasting god-awful dance music out of our systems. No doubt to scare them away. Twenty of us, twenty of them. We lined up, facing each other, like something out of The Warriors. Steve raised his chain wrapped fist and screamed, charging at the enemy. This was our cue to follow, and like sheep both sides ran at each other. I hung back, holding my ankle, feigning injury.
The battle was intense. Heads were busted, skulls were cracked, noses were broken. In the end it came down to Steve against their leader, some yeti resembling bloke who was obviously almost thirty. Steve was taking a beating, but I decided to help him out. I'd been with them 24 hours a day for almost a week, and had sort of bonded to them... in a Neanderthal way. I tripped the bloke up and Steve proceeded to kick him into a coma.
"That'll year ya!" he proclaimed. Too bad he couldn't hear him.
Day 7 -
Continued the celebrating, running through the streets, declaring to the shop owners that we owned the property. Wonder what the mafia would have to say about that. Free tabs were handed out, and sparked up with cheap disposable lighters.
I'd seen enough. I actually found myself being slightly interested in fast car magazines, driving over the limit down busy roads and talking about engines. I knew I had to get out, before I passed the point of no return and changed my name to "Micky". But I needed a good story, something that could get me out without suspicion. So I told them my dad was sick of me missing school and had confiscated my car. They all understood, and were sorry to see me go.
I know now why they do it. Why they speed, why they feel the need to have a bigger and better engine than somebody who honestly doesn't care about their car any further than if it gets them from A to B. Why they drink crappy beer, smoke cheap cigarettes, listen to the lowest form of entertainment - dance music. It's because they're rebelling against a system that doesn't want them. Society has turned it's back on them, so they're turning their back on society. They make their own rules, they have their own laws. They do it because they're accepted here, in this violent world of life size posters of topless women. It gives their lives meaning, gives them a sense of belonging.
Actually, I'm lying. They do it because they're sad.
That was excellent. Not had a spoof from you in quite a while, MoJo. Nice to see one again. Keep it up!
I liked Day 2 - seems the most realistic, and was also the most comical. "He once shot someone with an air gun, and bought a porno mag when he was 14. You can't make up stuff like that, he's the real deal!"
Heh. Great! (Y)
I liked Day 2 - seems the most realistic, and was also the most comical. "He once shot someone with an air gun, and bought a porno mag when he was 14. You can't make up stuff like that, he's the real deal!"
Heh. Great! (Y)
Glad you enjoyed it. Had some spare time before work, and remembered what Snuggly had said once about these drivers.
Very, very good. I usually hate the 'meaningful' crap I usually read on here, but that was very good. Worthy of a Gameaday, if only for being entirely truthful.
Tee hee hee.
Excellent.
Excellent.
i actually got jumped in a public resturant the other week and the police did nothing about it. how useless.
Good post. In my hometown, "gangs" like these are frequent. It's quite scary how you mention the ASDA car park becasue that is where they "hang out".
Excellent stuff.
Excellent stuff.
*Theme from The Negotiator plays*
Six months ago, Special Reserve's very own Mr Snuggly went undercover to infiltrate a gang so infamous, so dangerous, so rebellious that even the police dare not go near them. I am, of course, referring to "rude boys". Pathetic young men who try to make up for the size of their manhood by doing stuff to their cars. This is his story. Sort of like The Fast And The Furious, but with a plot.
Day 1 -
Well, I managed to spend all my wages and get a souped up Corsa. Also invested in a bright orange shirt and a baseball cap. With an angry scowl on my face, it's scary how much I look like one of them. Frightened the post man, so I know my disguise must be authentic.
Day 2 -
Found a group of them hanging around ASDA, driving around in circles. Had to hide the look of sheer confusion on my face, and act hard. Managed to get talking to one of them about his spoiler... or something. He introduced me to the gang. They don't have an official leader, but they all respect, or are scared of, Steve. Big Steve is 6"2 and has two GCSEs, making him their intellectual superior. They look up to him, but are also afraid of crossing him. He once shot someone with an air gun, and bought a porno mag when he was 14. You can't make up stuff like that, he's the real deal!
Day 3 -
Steve is suspicious of me, I know this. As they all waffled on about Max Power magazine and their twin turbo what's its, he noticed I wasn't paying attention. To be honest, my brain had shut down from the bravado that was bombarding my senses. I told him I'd been in a car crash when I was 13, driving a get-away car from a bank heist, and that ever since I had a blank expression on my face. He pondered this for a moment, before declaring "Ha ha, what's this? South Park, like?" The sheer randomness of this frightened me... The lights are on, but the owner is out taking a slash around the back.
Day 4 -
Big race today. Three laps around the block. Extra points for hitting a dog or small child. Steve's the favourite to win. The gang stay in contact with each other via mobile phones, the only things they care about almost as much as their cars. Their 17 year old girlfriends lined the street, with their two year old children. The more kids you have, the more respect you have. Rumour has it that Steve has 23 kids up and down the coast. Mucho respecto to him from the gang.
The gang put on their transfer tattoos and revved their engines. It was a sea of bright yellow and green cars. I wasn't allowed to race, as I didn't have a criminal record, and therefore wasn't one of the "elders." Only the elders are allowed to race, the rest of us just watch until we're accepted. To become accepted, you have to endure the tests. You're stripped naked and tied to a lamppost outside a primary school, if you last an hour without being arrested, you're in. If you fail, you try again the next day. Upon acceptance, you're given a bright pink furry dice for your car, some new alloys and a lifetime subscription to Max Power.
The race was called off when a traffic warden came by and gave us a funny look. "The filth are here!" they all screamed, and the entire collection of under 18s who were lined up left in a hurry. We'll try again tomorrow, at noon.
Day 4 -
The race was a go today. Steve was winning until he stopped outside the school to impress the 14 year olds. The fact that he shaves once a month makes him a rebel to them. Some guy called Wayne won the race, but was beaten up for it. Turns out this was his prize... pretty savage, but it's a dog eat dog world. After the race, we went to the only pub we could all get served in, and spent the night drinking LCL and Smirnoff Ice. Real manly drinks, for real men. I poured mine down the toilet and ordered a pint of Fosters when nobody was watching.
Day 5 -
Most amazing thing happened today, Steve was challenged as un-official leader of the gang. Some hot shot called Darren, with a stripey jumper, decided the era of Steve was over. This guy's on a modern apprenticeship, so not only did he have money, but also knows how to hit stuff with a hammer. The gang surrounded the two, and they circled each other. I hummed the Star Trek battle theme, but nobody knew what it was. Once again, my clever wit is lost on cretins. The two potential rulers charged at each other. Darren is small and stocky, Steve is big and powerful. They slapped each other, pulled each other's hair and tried to gauge each other's eyes out. They put professional cat fighters to shame. Steve kneed Darren in the never-regions and he went down with a scream so high pitched only dogs could hear it. Steve was still king of the hill, and for his victory he could have his choice of underage female tonight. Kudos to him.
Day 6 -
Big day today, a rival gang have decided they want the ASDA car park. Steve passed out chains and bottles (to be broken) and gave us a Braveheart style speech.
"'Ere, these lads, yeah? They wanna take our 'ood, yeah? An' that can't happen, like, because this is OUR 'ood!"
The gang erupted in a huge cheer. Not exactly Martin Luther King, but he certainly got them rallied behind him. Our advanced scouts spotted our rivals next to the chip shop. We drove down, blasting god-awful dance music out of our systems. No doubt to scare them away. Twenty of us, twenty of them. We lined up, facing each other, like something out of The Warriors. Steve raised his chain wrapped fist and screamed, charging at the enemy. This was our cue to follow, and like sheep both sides ran at each other. I hung back, holding my ankle, feigning injury.
The battle was intense. Heads were busted, skulls were cracked, noses were broken. In the end it came down to Steve against their leader, some yeti resembling bloke who was obviously almost thirty. Steve was taking a beating, but I decided to help him out. I'd been with them 24 hours a day for almost a week, and had sort of bonded to them... in a Neanderthal way. I tripped the bloke up and Steve proceeded to kick him into a coma.
"That'll year ya!" he proclaimed. Too bad he couldn't hear him.
Day 7 -
Continued the celebrating, running through the streets, declaring to the shop owners that we owned the property. Wonder what the mafia would have to say about that. Free tabs were handed out, and sparked up with cheap disposable lighters.
I'd seen enough. I actually found myself being slightly interested in fast car magazines, driving over the limit down busy roads and talking about engines. I knew I had to get out, before I passed the point of no return and changed my name to "Micky". But I needed a good story, something that could get me out without suspicion. So I told them my dad was sick of me missing school and had confiscated my car. They all understood, and were sorry to see me go.
I know now why they do it. Why they speed, why they feel the need to have a bigger and better engine than somebody who honestly doesn't care about their car any further than if it gets them from A to B. Why they drink crappy beer, smoke cheap cigarettes, listen to the lowest form of entertainment - dance music. It's because they're rebelling against a system that doesn't want them. Society has turned it's back on them, so they're turning their back on society. They make their own rules, they have their own laws. They do it because they're accepted here, in this violent world of life size posters of topless women. It gives their lives meaning, gives them a sense of belonging.
Actually, I'm lying. They do it because they're sad.
Six months ago, Special Reserve's very own Mr Snuggly went undercover to infiltrate a gang so infamous, so dangerous, so rebellious that even the police dare not go near them. I am, of course, referring to "rude boys". Pathetic young men who try to make up for the size of their manhood by doing stuff to their cars. This is his story. Sort of like The Fast And The Furious, but with a plot.
Day 1 -
Well, I managed to spend all my wages and get a souped up Corsa. Also invested in a bright orange shirt and a baseball cap. With an angry scowl on my face, it's scary how much I look like one of them. Frightened the post man, so I know my disguise must be authentic.
Day 2 -
Found a group of them hanging around ASDA, driving around in circles. Had to hide the look of sheer confusion on my face, and act hard. Managed to get talking to one of them about his spoiler... or something. He introduced me to the gang. They don't have an official leader, but they all respect, or are scared of, Steve. Big Steve is 6"2 and has two GCSEs, making him their intellectual superior. They look up to him, but are also afraid of crossing him. He once shot someone with an air gun, and bought a porno mag when he was 14. You can't make up stuff like that, he's the real deal!
Day 3 -
Steve is suspicious of me, I know this. As they all waffled on about Max Power magazine and their twin turbo what's its, he noticed I wasn't paying attention. To be honest, my brain had shut down from the bravado that was bombarding my senses. I told him I'd been in a car crash when I was 13, driving a get-away car from a bank heist, and that ever since I had a blank expression on my face. He pondered this for a moment, before declaring "Ha ha, what's this? South Park, like?" The sheer randomness of this frightened me... The lights are on, but the owner is out taking a slash around the back.
Day 4 -
Big race today. Three laps around the block. Extra points for hitting a dog or small child. Steve's the favourite to win. The gang stay in contact with each other via mobile phones, the only things they care about almost as much as their cars. Their 17 year old girlfriends lined the street, with their two year old children. The more kids you have, the more respect you have. Rumour has it that Steve has 23 kids up and down the coast. Mucho respecto to him from the gang.
The gang put on their transfer tattoos and revved their engines. It was a sea of bright yellow and green cars. I wasn't allowed to race, as I didn't have a criminal record, and therefore wasn't one of the "elders." Only the elders are allowed to race, the rest of us just watch until we're accepted. To become accepted, you have to endure the tests. You're stripped naked and tied to a lamppost outside a primary school, if you last an hour without being arrested, you're in. If you fail, you try again the next day. Upon acceptance, you're given a bright pink furry dice for your car, some new alloys and a lifetime subscription to Max Power.
The race was called off when a traffic warden came by and gave us a funny look. "The filth are here!" they all screamed, and the entire collection of under 18s who were lined up left in a hurry. We'll try again tomorrow, at noon.
Day 4 -
The race was a go today. Steve was winning until he stopped outside the school to impress the 14 year olds. The fact that he shaves once a month makes him a rebel to them. Some guy called Wayne won the race, but was beaten up for it. Turns out this was his prize... pretty savage, but it's a dog eat dog world. After the race, we went to the only pub we could all get served in, and spent the night drinking LCL and Smirnoff Ice. Real manly drinks, for real men. I poured mine down the toilet and ordered a pint of Fosters when nobody was watching.
Day 5 -
Most amazing thing happened today, Steve was challenged as un-official leader of the gang. Some hot shot called Darren, with a stripey jumper, decided the era of Steve was over. This guy's on a modern apprenticeship, so not only did he have money, but also knows how to hit stuff with a hammer. The gang surrounded the two, and they circled each other. I hummed the Star Trek battle theme, but nobody knew what it was. Once again, my clever wit is lost on cretins. The two potential rulers charged at each other. Darren is small and stocky, Steve is big and powerful. They slapped each other, pulled each other's hair and tried to gauge each other's eyes out. They put professional cat fighters to shame. Steve kneed Darren in the never-regions and he went down with a scream so high pitched only dogs could hear it. Steve was still king of the hill, and for his victory he could have his choice of underage female tonight. Kudos to him.
Day 6 -
Big day today, a rival gang have decided they want the ASDA car park. Steve passed out chains and bottles (to be broken) and gave us a Braveheart style speech.
"'Ere, these lads, yeah? They wanna take our 'ood, yeah? An' that can't happen, like, because this is OUR 'ood!"
The gang erupted in a huge cheer. Not exactly Martin Luther King, but he certainly got them rallied behind him. Our advanced scouts spotted our rivals next to the chip shop. We drove down, blasting god-awful dance music out of our systems. No doubt to scare them away. Twenty of us, twenty of them. We lined up, facing each other, like something out of The Warriors. Steve raised his chain wrapped fist and screamed, charging at the enemy. This was our cue to follow, and like sheep both sides ran at each other. I hung back, holding my ankle, feigning injury.
The battle was intense. Heads were busted, skulls were cracked, noses were broken. In the end it came down to Steve against their leader, some yeti resembling bloke who was obviously almost thirty. Steve was taking a beating, but I decided to help him out. I'd been with them 24 hours a day for almost a week, and had sort of bonded to them... in a Neanderthal way. I tripped the bloke up and Steve proceeded to kick him into a coma.
"That'll year ya!" he proclaimed. Too bad he couldn't hear him.
Day 7 -
Continued the celebrating, running through the streets, declaring to the shop owners that we owned the property. Wonder what the mafia would have to say about that. Free tabs were handed out, and sparked up with cheap disposable lighters.
I'd seen enough. I actually found myself being slightly interested in fast car magazines, driving over the limit down busy roads and talking about engines. I knew I had to get out, before I passed the point of no return and changed my name to "Micky". But I needed a good story, something that could get me out without suspicion. So I told them my dad was sick of me missing school and had confiscated my car. They all understood, and were sorry to see me go.
I know now why they do it. Why they speed, why they feel the need to have a bigger and better engine than somebody who honestly doesn't care about their car any further than if it gets them from A to B. Why they drink crappy beer, smoke cheap cigarettes, listen to the lowest form of entertainment - dance music. It's because they're rebelling against a system that doesn't want them. Society has turned it's back on them, so they're turning their back on society. They make their own rules, they have their own laws. They do it because they're accepted here, in this violent world of life size posters of topless women. It gives their lives meaning, gives them a sense of belonging.
Actually, I'm lying. They do it because they're sad.