Damn that YC nigga has done it again.
It was a cold Saturday night at Mano's, it was The Saint, myself and Young Chris along with an escaped ass-reaming convict, a BMX superstar and 2 women who just happened to be sitting there when we arrived. Sound spooky already? Read on.
The hot topic on the table was the completion of YC's '72 Chevette. He had been working on the beast for a very long time and finally managed to cram a big block Caddy 510 into it (amongst various nitrous products, rear 335/ZR19 tires, and stovepipe exhaust). Immediately I demanded a ride in the beast, and this is where the story gets interesting.
So we're drivin' down 8th street and after a few minutes I realize I can't see anything. I try wiping the windshield thinking it was just the smoke coming from Chris' 1 foot cuban cigar coating the windsheild, but still I could not see. It was then that I rolled down the window, and observed that we were not, infact, moving at all.
The lack of visibility was caused by the remains of Chris' tires as they were burned away on the pavement. Obviously we were having a traction problem as we hadn't moved an inch since he stepped on the gas 5 minutes earlier. To make matters worse there was a particularily irate Police Officer standing beside my window with her gun pulled out pointing at Chris' head. Whoa
Needless to say after a long brawl and a little Carbon Monoxide Poisioning, the cop was dead and we were back in the car. We returned to Mano's riding on the rims of the car, sparks flying everywhere. A little too much excitment for me, but just another day in the pimpin' life of YC.
