Sup. Yo. Hey. Hi. Hai. Dawg. I'm a pretty colorful person to begin with. I won't get deep into it, but let's just say lots of people like to call me their bro. I'm cool I guess? Not "cool" cool, like a greaser or some type of crap like that. Blehk. No sir. "Cool" like down to earth. For a 20 year old, many tell me I know how to do alot. I've had an obsession for speed and racing ever since I could remember. That obsession led to an obsession for cars. Then that led to an obsession in learning everything about cars (later on motorcycles too). Mechanically, historically, and so on. Along the way throughout the obsession chain reaction, I picked up quite a load of handy skills.
Built my first gas powered 2 stroke model of an inline 4 engine at the age of 7, the same year where I began my obsession with learning about how cars worked. I took it up a notch the next year and repaired my dad's faulty car engine, then assembled it at the age of 8. I was learning at an exponential rate. At the same year I was introduced to kart racing. Fast, efficient, and cheap. I was learning race tracks within 2 laps, 3 laps tops. All my racing instructor had to do was show me some charts and pictures about braking points, turning points, and so on. Strapped on my helmet and gloves, and within an hour I had beaten track records. For a few years I joined in many racing seasons.
I began losing a lot of focus though, it was too easy. I started going from constant pole positions to being in the top 10 of the grid. I stored my kart away and at the still youthful age of 10, I returned to working with cars. I ditched the everyday-car scene and began working with the muscle. I'm talking Corvettes, vintage Mustangs. Man, I love exotics sickly, but muscle cars always have a secret spot in my heart, I'll tell you that. The year after I had a pretty good overall knowledge about every single part, nut, and bolt in cars. Then at 12, I wanted to take it to the extreme. I wanted to build a car. My dad bought a scrapped '91 Corvette for me to dabble at. Oh, I did more than dabble. Let's just say, for the next 3 years, that thing went from a rusty mess that was missing more than half it's major components, to showroom condition.
Ok, I know it sounds like some Tony Stark shit, but bear with me. Not my fault I learn at an above average pace.
Within those 3 years, I learned a buttload of crafty things in order to restore the car. Welding, smithing, and a few other fancy party tricks. In the end, I built a car before I was the legal age to drive one. At 15, now equipped with knowledge in craft (relevant to cars), I felt pretty damn cocky. I took up racing again, but not with weedy little karts, nope. Since I couldn't take my Vette on public roads, I took it to the track. Became a club racer. For the year I returned to racing, I also took my mechanical skills up a notch and began to learn tuning. Engine performance, suspension swap, chassis reinforcement, all that jazz. Now, club racing. That was the shit.
Not afraid to admit I got my ass handed to me quite a few times too. But I had more than my fair share of victories. Championships? Nah, I was in it for the rush really. Now at the age of 16, I already did what would take most probably decades altogether. I wanted something new now. Then my dad mentioned bikes.
Ho, shit.
The world of superbikes blew my mind. Sitting only on a seat, holding only the handles as you travel on top of 2 wheels with an engine only a foot away from your crotch. Then, add going at a face blistering 180 mph to that. Only for the price of 5 or 6 grand if you find the right bike on craigslist. That's like, fucking buying a Ferarri for pocket change, and you get way more of a rush. Oh, and don't get me started with the sexy sound of that inline 4 screaming down the roads like a Formula 1 car.
I don't think I have to tell you how I spent the next few years.
Afterwards, from the age of 18 to present day, I've just been working on cars n' bikes as a "backyard" mechanic, although way better than one for sure. I also buy "broken" cars and bikes and fix them up. People get a blown head gasket in their brand new fresh-from-the-showroom cars, and then consider it broken, then sell it to me for the price of trash, when it only has like 40k or 50k in mileage. Dude, you have no idea how easy it is to fix it, atleast when you have experience working with cars. A broken head gasket only needs a replacement gasket. I order the part for like 30 bucks, open up the head of the engine block, slap it on, then bolt back the head. There's a little more to it than that of course, but in summary, it's a one hour job for me. Afterwards I sell the "brand new" car for a price that the customer always calls a "steal". In truth I always get atleast 5 or more grand in profit. Easiest, buck, ever.
Ehh... I digress. Anyway, I guess you can say I know quite a lot for my age.
I've been bored out of my mind lately though. I live in Greenville, SC. Not huge, but not small either. Pretty damn quiet though. I have a few friends, but they're busy being a family man most of the time. Bored. Bored. Bored. Sooo.
BOOOOOOORRRRRREEEEEEEEEED.
The sound of a Skype notification played through my computer speakers.
"Oh, sweet." I said aloud to myself.
I read the name of the sender mentally. The biggest smile crept onto my face.
'B-R-O-S-K-I !!!' I typed back. The little pencil showing that the other was writing appeared.
'WAAZUZUP !!!' He replied.