Might be a racer...

[Shaggy]

Old but still funny

You might be a racer if…
You Might Be a Racer If …
You are happiest when your street car’s tires are worn to racing depth and the wear bars are showing.

When something falls off of your car, you wonder how much weight you just saved.

Your email address refers to your race car rather than to you.

You’ve paid $4.00 a gallon for gas without complaining.

You bought a race car before buying a house.

You bought a race car before buying furniture for the new house.

You’re looking for a tow vehicle and still haven’t bought furniture!

The requirements you give your real estate agent are (in order of importance):

1. 8 car climate controlled garage with an attached shop.

2. Outside parking for 6 cars, a motor home, a crew cab dually, a 28’ enclosed trailer and a 34’ 5th wheel.

3. 3 phase 220V outlets in the garage for your welder.

4. A grease pit.

5. Deaf neighbors.

6. Some sort of house with a working toilet & shower on the property - or - hookups for the motor home.

You sit in your race car in a dark garage and make car noises and shift and practice your heel and toe, while waiting for your motor to get back from the machine shop.

You have enough spare parts to build another car.

More than one racer supply store recognizes your voice and greets you by name when you call.

You think the last line of the Star Spangled banner is: “Racers start your engines!”

People know you by your class, car number, and car color.

You astound the clerk at Sears by bringing in a snapped breaker bar every other week or so.

Your family brings the couch into the garage to spend time with you.

A neighbor asks if you have any oil, to which you query, “Synthetic or organic?” and they reply, “Vegetable or corn.”

You enjoy driving in the rain on the way to work.

You always want to change something on your street car to make it handle better.

You’ve tried to convince your wife you needed that flow bench to fix the air filter on her station wagon.

You save broken car parts as “momentous”.

You’ve found your lawnmower runs pretty good on 108 octane gas (but doesn’t particularly care for alcohol).

The local police and state highway patrol have a picture of your car taped to their dashboard.

Instead of pictures in your wallet, you have time slips.

You quote your street tire wear life in weeks rather than miles.

After you tell your wife where you’d like to go on vacation she answers: “Why…is there a race there?”

You know at least three 1-800 numbers to aftermarket parts houses by heart.

You are on a first-name basis with owners of every local speed shop.

You want to take apart and rebuild things, even though they are not broken.

You have the monetary equivalent of a lunar rocket invested in it, but your car still won’t cut a good light or run the number.

You own a vehicle that has at least 500 horsepower more than when it came out of Detroit.

You look for hi-powered cars in the movies and try to guess what engine size, tire size, and whether or not it has nitrous in it.

You are the type of person who goes postal when you have to sit in a traffic jam for more than five minutes, yet you can spend five hours in the staging lanes.

Every stoplight becomes a practice tree to test your ability to tree the guy in the other lane’s eyes out.

You wash your car like it was your firstborn child, you tend to its needs like it was your own body, you protect it like it’s your family, then you drive it like you stole it.

You understand racing is a way of life, not just a means of transportation.

[Shaggy]

You’ve found your lawnmower runs pretty good on 108 octane gas (but doesn’t particularly care for alcohol).

8.1 Crew Cub Cadet

[Shaggy]

The requirements you give your real estate agent are (in order of importance):
8 car climate controlled garage with an attached shop.
Outside parking for 6 cars, a motorhome, a crew cab duelly, a 28’ enclosed trailer and a 34’ 5th wheel.
3 phase 220V outlets in the garage for your welder.
A grease pit.
Convenient to a hazardous waste disposal site.
Deaf neighbors.
Across the street from a paint and body shop.
Some sort of house with a working toilet on the property somewhere -or- hookups for the motorhome.
When something falls off of the car, you wonder how much weight you just saved.
When you call home from Montreal, instead of saying “Hi Daddy,” your 3 year old son asks who has the pole.
With some hesitation, you still get depressed on the first of May.
You always do a toe & heel down shift while whoever might be your passenger gives you a real funny look.
You always late apex the intersection and try to pass a few cars coming out.
You always try to find the fastest line through the turn (not necessarily going fast).
You always want to change something in your street car to make it handle better.
You and your spouse met at a race track.
You are happiest when your street car’s tires are worn to racing depth. ( wear bars showing).
You are the only one to get scared to see a wreck while watching a race on TV with 10 other people.
You are the only person in your office who doesn’t mind wearing a multilayer suit in 100+ degree weather.
You astound the clerk at Sears by bringing in a snapped breaker bar every other week or so.
You bought a race car before buying a house.
You bought a race car before buying furniture for the new house.
You buy Gatorade by the box.
You buy new parts because you don’t know where you put the spares.
You buy real cheap tires for your street car, so you can save $$$ for the real (race) tires.
You came back early from your honeymoon in order to attend driver’s school.
You can change hot differentials in less than 20 min.
You can look the hotel clerk straight in the eye and say “One adult, and could I have some extra towels?”
You can lose five pounds on a July afternoon while eating chili dogs.
You can set the valve lash in less than 10 min.
You can’t remember when you last worked on weekdays and rested on weekends.
You can’t stand anyone telling others how to drive. Of course, you are the best.
You can’t stand understeer.
You can’t understand why Jeff Foxworthy finds anything wrong with owning a car or two that doesn’t run (at the moment).
You change engine oil every other week.
You complain about how long it takes AAA to dispatch a wrecker/tilt-bed to your disabled car (you know, more than 1 minute or so…).
You complain about how the police officer could use better body language, more exaggerated motions, etc. when directing traffic.
You complain the seatbelts in the family car aren’t tight enough.
You complain when cars in front of you on highway off-ramps don’t stay on the line, causing your exit speed to drop.
You consider a test drive successful if you get the salesguy to whimper.
You created a huge fire in your back yard when you used left over Pure Firebird racing gasoline to light your charcoal grill.
You critique the way people wave the flags at a parade.
You disappear into the bathroom for hours when a new racing catalog arrives in the mail. (The reading material in your bathroom consists of auto parts and racing supply catalogs, several books written by famous drivers, every book Carroll Smith has ever written and 400 car magazines, none of which have centerfolds.).
You discover that the only thing you record on TV is racing.
You do more catalog shopping than your wife.
You don’t mind working on hot parts. (Well, you do mind but still do it.).
You don’t see anything unusual in cording a set of tires in just a few hours’ driving.
You drill out your street car’s pedals so you can go “faster.”
You enjoy driving in the rain on the way to work (or school).
You evaluate on-coming traffic as to their “parts” value.
You explain to a brand new teenage driver in training that her dad doesn’t know what he’s talking about when he wants her hand position at 10 & 2 o’clock on the steering. (But dad said…).
You feel compelled, on a road trip, to beat your previous best time.
You feel naked in your street car without a roll cage and a five point harness.
You find that you need a new house because you’ve outgrown your garage and the neighbors are threatening violence if you park one more vehicle on the street or in the front yard.
You fix the race car before you fix your daily driver.
You fix things around the house (kid’s bikes, etc.) with grade 8 bolts and nylock nuts from your parts bins.
You get a parts cleaner as a wedding gift and both bride and groom are thrilled.
You get ticked off when drivers don’t wave at you when you are standing on a street corner waving at them.
You get upset if you don’t hear the rumble of Bots-Dots at the entrance, apex and exit of every corner on your drive to work.
You get your first racing tee shirt and you are really excited.
You give out [your favorite racing catalog here]‘s number when a friend asks for the best hardware store.
You go to play golf, and call the caddies “workers”; you also finish playing “at the beer” instead of the 19th hole.
You go to the races so you can see your son.
You had to stop at an apple orchard to pick dinner while towing back from Elkhart Lake.
You had your “Glamour Shots” pictures taken in your racing suit.
You hang on for dear life when you drive with non racing friends in their souped up, turbo charged or V8 street cars.
You hate long distance driving, but you will gladly drive 800 miles to the race track.
You have a “home” toolbox and an “away” toolbox.
You have a large piece of piston mounted on a wall plaque in your living room.
You have a separate drawer for ‘garage clothes’.
You have a solvent tank and a pressure washer in your shop.
You have a solvent tank in your shop.
You have an immaculate car which you drive one day a week, and the vehicle that gets you around the other 6 days is rusted, covered with duct tape, and has a pair of Vise Grips® holding the clutch cable together. You promise yourself you’ll fix it right after this season, or when you need your Vise Grips for something else.
You have car parts in your cubicle at work.
You have enough spare parts to build another car.
You have more pictures of race cars on you desk than one of your wife or kids.
You have more than one roll of duct tape around the house (the handyman’s secret weapon).
You have never critiqued the driving skills of Daisy Duke.
You have no problem adding 45 mph (or more) to the real answer of…How fast do you go?
You have really unique ashtrays to use when your friends who smoke come over (made by J&E and ROSS) .
You have the “Shift-O-Matic” sitting on your desk. (The “Shift-O-Matic” happens to be a toilet plunger with a shifter attached with Porsche crest) And while meeting with your staff you run through the gears making rude noises and an occasional squealing sound.
You have tried to figure out how to put air conditioning and a toilet in your garage.
You hear “727” and think of “Chrysler” instead of “Boeing.”
You hear “Darlington” and think of “asphalt” and “NASCAR circuit” instead of “silicon” and “compound circuit.”
You hear “overcooked it” and think “off the track” instead of “Denny’s.”
You hear the police just arrested some hooker down the street and wonder what the tow truck driver did wrong.
You keep replaying the last race weekend over and over in your mind while quasi-listening to relatives’ last fishing trips.
You keep thinking you can squeeze in just one more session of track time as the sun sets over turn 2 at Willow.
You know dear that orthodontic work is the equivalent of three sets of tires.
You know how to hit the apex on every corner between your house and your job.
You know how to properly pronounce “Ligier.”
You know more than one racer supply house that recognizes your voice and greets you by name when you call.
You know people who know you by your class letter, car number, and car color.
You know people who know you by your deviations: “Oh, you are the one stuck in the mud at Lime Rock last weekend!”
You know that a “bird cage” is not for holding birds and a “Jacobs ladder” is not for climbing.
You look at the fire hydrant at that corner and see an apex marker.
You look at the purchase of tools as a long term investment.
You look longingly at shopping mall parking lots as alternatives to street courses.
You make turbocharger noises while walking down the street.
You measure all family acquisitions in terms of the number of race car parts that could have been purchased.
You memorized the menu at Denny’s.
You might be a politically correct racer if instead of complaining about the slow driver that swerved in front of you and scared the crap out of you, you stated; “The driver, who was velocity-challenged, changed lanes in front of me, since he was not a slave to the linear thought process of Western civilization, and I experienced a fecal matter deficit.”
You pick up the phone and say, “Race Control, this is…”
You plan all your vacations around racing and your wife says,“not this year again.”
You plan your social life around the racing schedule.
You plan your wedding around the race schedule.
You prefer to drive yourself when going someplace in the car.
You put a Flowmaster muffler on a car that doesn’t need it, just so you can enjoy the sounds of gear changes.
You put all the race car receipts you can under “Auto Repair Expense” on your annual budget.
You quietly ignore the question…How fast do you go?
You really believe that waxing your car causes either bodywork damage or sudden, torrential downpours.
You refer to the corner down the street from your house as “Turn One.”
You remember the dates and details of every race you’ve ever been in, but can’t remember your phone number.
You reply “Synthetic or organic?” to a neighbor’s query “Do you have any oil?” (to which they reply, “Vegetable or corn.”).
You save broken car parts as “mementos.”
You see a “Flagger Ahead” sign and check to see if you know them.
You select pets based on their ability to survive a weekend alone.
You send your parents a gift certificate for their 50th Wedding anniversary dinner out, because its a race weekend.
You sometimes hear little noises from your passengers when you get on the throttle right after turning in.
You “soup up” everything you come in contact with.
You spend all week explaining to your wife or girlfriend that when you said there was a new hooker at the track, it wasn’t what she thought.
You spend lunch hour reading the latest racing magazines instead of eating with the group.
You start to work the races so you can talk to your son in the evening.
You stick your arm out the window and raise it straight up before turning into your driveway.
You take notes about reckless driving and rude hand gestures of other drivers towards you or other drivers.
You take your helmet along when you go to buy new eyeglasses.
You tell a friend you need to clean up the head this weekend and they think you mean the toilet.
You tell your neighbor you need them brushes for a generator/alternator and they give you a funny look when they’ve asked to borrow them.
You think a used Goodyear F1 qualifier and a slab of glass constitutes a coffee table.
You think Robert Mitchum can sing (see the movie “Thunder Road”).
You think that traction control and ABS are for those who can’t drive.
You think the last line of the Star Spangled Banner is: “Racers, start your engines!”
You think the primary purpose for wings is to PREVENT flight.
You thoroughly enjoy showing the tailgater behind how to drive around a highway off-ramp.
You try to explain to non racers that they don’t have to be going over 100 mph to loose control of their car.
You try to get home in time for RPM tonight.
You try to impress new acquaintances with your heel and toe skills.
You try to justify your hobby as continuing education.
You used to have money.
You walk around the paddock area with white pants, racing tee shirt, racing hat and you feel like you really belong.
You walk proper lines through the grocery store.
You wear a Turner Belt in your daily driver.
You wear long underwear in July.
You will gladly pay up to $6 for a bottle of engine oil.
You will spend months evaluating replacement tire performance, but not once think of tire wear as a factor.
You will spend the rainy day crewing/working on someone else car, of course outside in the rain.
You will spend the rainy day working a corner at the race track in the rain.
You wonder why the hotel air-conditioning can’t keep up with 12 people sleeping in the same room.
You wore Nomex socks to your wedding.
You’re 75 year old parents watch ESPN and TNN’s “Raceday” to see if you’re on it as you haven’t called them in 2 months.
You’re looking for a tow vehicle and still haven’t bought furniture!
You’re registered for wedding gifts at Pegasus and Racer Wholesale.
You’re tired of people asking how fast your car is and expecting to hear the top speed in MPH, not a lap time at some local track.
You’re too ill to go to work, but the same illness doesn’t keep you from going racing.
You’ve actually heard of the Clark Gable movie “To Please a Lady.”
You’ve been known to yell “It means ‘check your mirrors’ dammit!” at your television.
You’ve been to driver’s school and didn’t even have a ticket!
You’ve ever had to explain the term “pucker factor.”
You’ve ever repaired your lawn mower with AN hardware.
You’ve ever spent $100 for a battery that was three pounds lighter, when you were twenty pounds over weight.
You’ve ever tried to convince your wife you needed that flow bench to fix the air filter on her station wagon.
You’ve ever wondered how much a u-joint weighs.
You’ve found that the guys at the local tire store laugh when you come in.
You’ve found your lawnmower runs pretty good on 108 octane gas (but doesn’t particularly care for alcohol).
You’ve got 3 immaculate race cars always race ready, but your wife has to nag you for 2 months before you fix the headlight in her car.
You’ve noticed that the UPS truck stops at your house more than any other house on the block.
You’ve paid $4.00 a gallon for gas without complaining…
Your “daily driver” is continuously being mistaken for an abandoned car as you haven’t taken the time to wash it in over a year.
Your 2 1/2 year old daughter and 4 year old son fight over who is going to be Jimmy Vassar.
Your 2 year old son knows the meanings of all the flags.
Your answer to “How was your weekend?” is always: “And you do this for fun? Right?”
Your back yard is three inches higher than your front yard due to all the mud you’ve blasted out from the undercarriage (also for your hobby stock types).
Your best suit has a zipper.
Your children are named after famous race car drivers (and one or more of them were conceived at a race track).
Your Christmas list begins with a Webster gearbox and Carrillo rods (and your ‘significant other’ knows what these are).
Your criteria for selecting a significant other include auto repair skills. Air tools optional.
Your daughter was an SCCA member when she was 1 day old.
Your doctor checks your reflexes by hitting your knee and your foot goes to the floor.
Your dogs’ favorite toys are old race tires.
Your e-mail address refers to your race car rather than to you.
Your family brings the couch into the garage so they can spend some time with you.
Your family remembers your hair color as “grease.”
Your first date involves asking her to crew for you.
Your friends don’t recognize you without a helmet and driver’s suit.
Your garage holds more cars than your house has bedrooms.
Your granddaughter’s reply to “We’re going to Willow this weekend” is: “I don’t have any white jeans.”
Your grandmother is shocked to find you have a pair of jammies that cost $400 and the seat doesn’t even drop down.
Your idea of an evening’s entertainment involves multiple multi-car collisions - with yourself as the pachinko ball (for you hobby stock types).
Your last several freeway forays included just brushing the curbs as you apexed the on-ramps perfectly.
Your lawn mower has a fuel cell.
Your minivan was ordered with a rear sway bar, heavy duty shocks and you are contemplating putting stickies on it.
Your racing budget is one of the big 3 - mortgage, car payments, day care, etc.
Your socks in the drawer are all nomex.
Your street car has last season’s race rubber mounted on it.
Your street car’s tires are uni-directional and Z rated.
Your wife can never find enough hangers in the house 'cause you’ve used all the wire ones as welding rod.
Your wife decides to become a race official so she’ll see more of you during the season.
Your wife says, “If you buy another set of tires, I’m getting a new mink.”

[Pewter]

good one

[eurodad]

@8.1crew

good one