This is why you never lie to a drifter

"So you're telling me you already do drifting right? This is nothing new to you? You have no fear? God Bless." This may be the first drifting video ever that's better to watch with the subtitles on, thanks to the revenge this drifter unleashes on a man who apparently overstated his drifting credentials.


Stay long enough to see the victim make a sad, scared sound usually reserved for chubby kids on creaking wooden rollercoasters.

Hat tip to Robert!



That's always bugged me when people posture like that. Even when I had my lowly V6 Thunderbird with all kinds of suspension tweaks, I'd get somebody wanting a ride to "see what this thing's got!" I'd ask "You sure?" They'd respond with "Yeah! I ain't scared! My brother/father/uncle had this/that/the other thing, I ain't scared!" But don't you have an '89 Accord? "So what? What are you trying to say? Just go already!"

Alright then. Hold on to your teeth, we're going for a ride!

Find the nearest off-ramp, preferably a decreasing radius one and throw the 2 ton beast in to it with vigor! The steamroller sized 50-series tires howling, trying to hold on to the road with all the weight pushing on them. No body roll from the progressive springs, baseball bat thick anti-roll bars and Koni adjustables so all the lateral G's want to pull you out of your seat. Thank God for seat belts holding your skinny ass in place! Just an intense feeling and Mr. Macho is whining like a bitch about not wanting to die.


The fast cars and truck are even worse. Everyone always wants to see "what it's got!" Ask multiple times if they are positive. They are adamant. Tell them that this Mustang is not stock and runs through a 1/4 mile in as much time as it takes your '86 Civic to get to 60, you're sure? "YES! What do you think I am? A pussy?"


Find an on-ramp, piddle down to the right lane on the highway at an obscenely slow pace and romp on it. Nose comes up so far you can barely see the road surface, tenth mile markers look like a picket fence and those taillights are getting mighty close, mighty fast. But he can't see shit 'cause his head is pinned so far back he's looking out the moonroof and crying about not being able to breathe or some silly shit like that. So you let off, downshift and let the clutch out. It grabs and throws him towards the dash where Mr. Macho's head bounces off the laminated time slip taped to the dash that got you black flagged from Atco Raceway without further safety improvements.

Next time, where a diaper, crybaby.

I won't even get in to a pickup truck that will do a buck fifty on an open stretch and the Mr. Macho hilarity that ensues from those who think they are more experienced than they really are leaving death grip indentations in the "oh shit" bars.