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Hello all,
I'm so sorry I missed T/T last Sunday. But, in order to explain what happened, I've decided to write a short story about my "misadventure" while you guys were busy enjoying yourselves. Feedback is welcome...
Hope you enjoy it. I call it "Defcon's Manic Sunday"...
Defcon's Manic Sunday (also known as Deffy misses T/T)
Adrenalin pumping, Defcon1 enters the winning straight, gunning the throttle wide open, the roar of the heavily modified RB26DETT fills the cabin as the Skyline kicks forward, a loud chirp coming from it’s wheels as it rapidly accelerates to max speed. He hears the gearbox grinding as he shifts gears, knowing that it could go at any time…he’d pushed it just a little too hard today. He laughs the maniacal laugh of one too exhausted to care anymore…
“MUAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAAAA!!!”
It’s his 100th Super GT race, maybe his last…and Defcon1 is the first to round the finishing curve. Clenching his jaw stubbornly, trying to ignore his pounding heart, his sore and aching body, Defcon1 was determined to make sure that he would be remembered, to join the ranks of the exclusive Racing 100 Club. Even the legendary Schumacher never made it, fading away into quiet obscurity once he got too slow, and too fat to fit into his F1 cockpit.
Blinking the sweat out of his eyes, he sees the finish line in the distance...the steward holding the chequered flag ready to wave him across. As he makes one last gear-shift, something intrudes on his thoughts…something cold and wet sticks itself into his ear…causing him to lose his concentration. He fouls up the gear-shift…hears the gearbox crunch, and is suddenly thrown against the door, his harness straining against his chest as the Skyline spins out of control.
Helpless, Defcon1 struggles with his now useless steering wheel, feeling his dream slowly slipping away from his grasp. He closes his eyes as the spinning world around him threatens to disorientate him…feels the Skyline hit the barrier throwing him hard against the harness…then…peace engulfs him…
He is lying down. The comfortable bed hugs his body as the “something cold and wet” once again intrudes itself upon his thoughts, this time…on his left cheek. He cautiously opens his eyes to see…
...a blurry white thing, that resolves itself into a huge furry face, a mouth that seems to go from one side of the face to the other with long whiskers on either side filled with razor sharp teeth and four very sharp, very nasty looking fangs. He freezes as huge ocean blue eyes narrow menacingly as they contemplate his countenance!
"Cumi...will you get off my chest!", he moans at the fat, rather spoilt siamese cat who seems to have discovered that Defcon's tummy is a nice, warm place to nap especially in an air-conditioned room.
Rescued from the cruel streets of Singapore 5 years earlier, Cumi, either abandoned or lost by her previous owners, had found refuge under a sharp looking red sports car whose owner had taken pity on her and taken her up to his apartment to feed. Since then, she has discovered the joys of high grade and expensive cat foods, practically tripled her body weight, somehow gotten into her mind that she was as human as anyone else in the household and therefore, has an equal right to the curtains, carpets, chairs, toilet paper, beds, and anything else that we humans consider belongings.
This, in itself, wouldn't have bothered Deffy (as he is fondly known to his friends) so much, except that she seems to have a rather irritating problem not being able to resolve the intended use of each item in the house. Given an example, a simple concept like "beddings are not for pee-pee" seems to elude her from time to time. And "beddings are not for pee-pee especially when Deffy is still in bed", seems to pass her completely, much to the chagrin of Deffy, who has been startled out of bed more than once by the feeling of warm water running down his feet!
Still, she knew how to be quite adorable, and had Deffy firmly twisted round her little finger...or...to be more precise, her little toe.
Flashing Deffy a "why are you such a bother" sort of look as only a siamese cat can, she waddles off to the other side of the bed to find another warm spot. As she leaves his field of vision, bright sunlight streaming through the open windows causes Deffy to squeeze his eyes quickly shut again as the rays of the cheery morning sun seems to penetrate straight to the back of his skull.
"Oh God", he thinks..."I gotta get to bed earlier..."
Eyes still shut, he shifts his not insubstancial bulk towards the edge of the bed and gropes for his handphone on the bedside table. After some clumsy fumbling, he finally manages to retrieve it. Lifting it to his face, he cautiously opens one eye to look at the time. The blurry image slowly resolves itself into numbers as he gropes through the cobwebs of his mind to understand what he is seeing...
"10.10 am...good...just enough time", he thinks, smiling to himself, "So many things to do."
With a loud groan, and an even louder fart...he drags his 115 kg bulk into a siting position on the side of the bed. Learning his lesson from his earlier experience, he cautiously opens his other eye, looking away from the bright, cheery windows. Mumbling to himself about it being time to lose some weight, he gets painfully to his feet and shuffles his way to the bathroom to wash up.
Whilst some may consider the daily ritual of Deffy washing up to be entertaining, most prefer not to know the rather sordid, often unpleasant details. As such, we have decided to omit the section from this story. However, should any be curious, they might try interviewing Deffy's maid who has been known to be moved to the point of tears at the subject of washing up after Deffy...
Feeling a new man, heart pounding with excitement, Deffy bounds down the stairs two at a time, the half wood, half concrete staircase groaning under the punishment, giving the kid, whom he encounters at the bottom of the stairs, a quick pat on the head and a hearty "Good morning, Junior" before bouncing off into the kitchen where he quickly gulps down a cup of warm coffee, gives his wife a peck on the cheek, retrieves his toolkit and heads out for the porch yelling over his shoulder,"I'll be working on the car, darling".
He comes to a stop on his patio just outside his front door, and gazes lovingly at the sleek lines of his Cefiro. Cefiro...no one knows exactly how she got her name. Some say that she was named after the magical realm Cefiro, ruled by the Princess Emeraude. The more likely origin would have come from the dialects of the Sahara where Cefiro means "desert wind", for indeed, she could run like the wind. Equipped with a 210 bhp VQ30DE fully aluminium power plant, she was one of the smoothest and fastest sports saloons ever built and "desert wind" would have described her perfectly - quiet, fast and powerful.
Whistling a merry tune, Deffy puts down his toolbox.
"Let see...what have we got on our plate today", he says to his car. "New Cefiro kicking plates...engine wash...and finally, installing the Pivot Reizzen that's been sitting in the storeroom for the past week...should have all that finished by 1 pm...then quick shower and off to meet the boys". The 'boys" as Deffy called them were hardly boys at all. A fun loving bunch of not too young, not too old, not too over-weight but certainly not too underweight guys, the "boys" constituted the Cefiro Club of Malaysia, a group that Deffy had somehow recently found himself involved with.
Of course, Mrs. Deffy would have had other things to say. She's never really believed that the boys actually discussed serious affairs of the world, like "group joy-riding to Genting", "how to put a turbo into an already over-powered car", "the nature, complexities and nutritional value of engine oils", "spark plugs and how they affect our daily lives", "the significance of ear-rings to a pimped ride", "undercarriage disco lights add hp's to your ride, fact or fiction?"... etc. To most women, a bunch of men getting together was simply another excuse to go out and play. It's no wonder they are the less informed half of the human species...
But, back to Deffy. Today was the day of the great T/T and Deffy was adamant that nothing would keep him away.
Opening his car door, Deffy examines his old kick plates. Made of stainless steel, and seemingly fixed on with 4 small screws, age had worn off the rubber edge lining leaving them knife sharp on every side. A huge “NISSAN” was embossed in the middle of each plate, whereas Deffy’s new set said,”Cefiro”. Still whistling a slightly off key tune, Deffy proceeds to attack the first screw on the driver’s side of the car with a well used screwdriver.
15 minutes, and about 200 revolutions later, it finally begins to dawn on Deffy that this screw is not going to come out.
“Hmmmmm”, he thinks to himself, ”Never mind…some are bound to stick. He proceeds to the second screw and attacks it with renewed gusto.
Another 10 minutes and 150 revolutions pass. A now hot and sweaty Deffy begins to think that this may not be as easy as it seemed earlier. Sitting on the floor next to the car door, he lights a Marlboro and proceeds to get his ponderous intellect into gear.
“Hmmmm…doorstep moulding…kick plates…screws…”, he thinks, frowning deeply as his brain struggles to assimilate the data so soon after waking up, on a Sunday of all days when the majority of Deffy’s brain cells are off for the weekend.
Five puffs and a long moment of contemplation later, a weak spark seems to light up Deffy's dull eyes, “$#@@*%%...let’s try plying them off…”
Gingerly feeling his way around the edges of the door step moulding, Deffy begins to ply them upwards.
“KLACK!”, and the door step moulding pops out cleanly. Looking behind it, Deffy realizes that the screws are affixed to small nuts on the back of the door moulding, which accounts for why they wouldn’t unscrew cleanly out of the moulding in the first place.
“Heh…silly me”, he thinks to himself, his good mood restored, as he proceeds to replace the kick plates on the driver’s side of his car. Finishing off the rear plate, he goes to the other side, only to realize that there is a flower pot blocking his door from opening.
Muttering softly to himself about women and their bloody flower pots, he gets back into the driver’s seat, and proceeds to start the engine.
“Click, click,”…nothing!
“Click, click, grumble”…nothing!
“Click, click, grumble, mumble”, and…the Cefiro’s alarm system triggers, the loudly wailing siren shattering the peacefulness of a suburban Sunday. Clearly panicked, Deffy searches frantically for his original key, as the copy he uses cannot reset the alarm. Finding it in his hip pocket, he quickly depresses the “arm” button whilst turning the key in the ignition. The alarm shuts off, restoring once again the peace and tranquility of the Sunday morning.
“What the hell…?”, mumbles Deffy to himself. By now, the sun is high in the sky, and Deffy is sweating bullets sitting in the hot car still trying to recall some of his absent brain cells from their weekend retreats.
He tries it again....
"Click, click"...nothing!
"Click, click, grumble"...nothing!
"Click, click, grumble, mumble, bash on steering wheel", and...once again the peaceful surburban Sunday is shattered by the loud wailing of the Cefiro's alarm system. Again, Deffy reaches frantically for his original key and resets the alarm.
"%$^&*&@*&^%$%^$#@%", he exclaims as he reaches for the key in the ignition once again.
Now, one of Deffy's more obvious flaws...apart from the rather large paunch he carries around with so much pride...is the fact that he is a stubborn bastard. This can be especially painful on Sundays, when three quarters of Deffy's brain cells decide to go to Gentings for the weekend. Deffy, however, has other views. He calls it "persistence" and "single-mindedness of purpose". Mrs. Deffy just calls it stupid.
Several dozen clicks, mumbles, grumbles, nothings and alarm triggers later, punctuated by the occassional "%$^&*&@*&^%$%^$#@%", and just before the neighbours decide to organize a deligation to give "that fat, foul mouthed bugger" a firm kick in the pants, it dawns upon him that the Cefiro is not going to start no matter how many strings of "%$^&*&@*&^%$%^$#@%" he growls at it.
Clearly purturbed, and struggling to maintain some of that "single-mindedness of purpose", he suddenly sees something dangling down from under the dashboard. Reaching out, he tugs gently at it and realizes that it's a relay that's somehow come loose from inside the dash. The dashboard lights brighten ominously as he pull on it, and dims again when he lets go.
"A-HA!!", he exclaims,"Only a loose wire...heh...easy to fix. Just need to open dash, just a few screws, reconnect wire again, and all will be well", he thinks cheerfully to himself, his good mood returning as he drips a few more quarts of sweat onto the car seat. Glancing quickly at his handphone, he notes that it is almost 1pm.
"A simple 15 minute job", he smirks.
Yet another of Deffy's many flaws is his apparent dedication to positive thinking. Deffy was an undying optimist. Somehow, Deffy has always looked on life as an eternal adventure, a challenging journey from beginning to end. Deffy was just one of those rare breeds whom, if he ever found himself on a plane dripping oil profusely from it's engines, he'd probably say,"Oh good! That means that we still have some". Well, we all know Mrs. Deffy's opinion about that!
Oozing sweat now from every pore, he ponderously makes his way to his toolkit and reaches for another screwdriver...
End of Pt. 1
I'm so sorry I missed T/T last Sunday. But, in order to explain what happened, I've decided to write a short story about my "misadventure" while you guys were busy enjoying yourselves. Feedback is welcome...
Hope you enjoy it. I call it "Defcon's Manic Sunday"...
Defcon's Manic Sunday (also known as Deffy misses T/T)
Adrenalin pumping, Defcon1 enters the winning straight, gunning the throttle wide open, the roar of the heavily modified RB26DETT fills the cabin as the Skyline kicks forward, a loud chirp coming from it’s wheels as it rapidly accelerates to max speed. He hears the gearbox grinding as he shifts gears, knowing that it could go at any time…he’d pushed it just a little too hard today. He laughs the maniacal laugh of one too exhausted to care anymore…
“MUAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAAAA!!!”
It’s his 100th Super GT race, maybe his last…and Defcon1 is the first to round the finishing curve. Clenching his jaw stubbornly, trying to ignore his pounding heart, his sore and aching body, Defcon1 was determined to make sure that he would be remembered, to join the ranks of the exclusive Racing 100 Club. Even the legendary Schumacher never made it, fading away into quiet obscurity once he got too slow, and too fat to fit into his F1 cockpit.
Blinking the sweat out of his eyes, he sees the finish line in the distance...the steward holding the chequered flag ready to wave him across. As he makes one last gear-shift, something intrudes on his thoughts…something cold and wet sticks itself into his ear…causing him to lose his concentration. He fouls up the gear-shift…hears the gearbox crunch, and is suddenly thrown against the door, his harness straining against his chest as the Skyline spins out of control.
Helpless, Defcon1 struggles with his now useless steering wheel, feeling his dream slowly slipping away from his grasp. He closes his eyes as the spinning world around him threatens to disorientate him…feels the Skyline hit the barrier throwing him hard against the harness…then…peace engulfs him…
He is lying down. The comfortable bed hugs his body as the “something cold and wet” once again intrudes itself upon his thoughts, this time…on his left cheek. He cautiously opens his eyes to see…
...a blurry white thing, that resolves itself into a huge furry face, a mouth that seems to go from one side of the face to the other with long whiskers on either side filled with razor sharp teeth and four very sharp, very nasty looking fangs. He freezes as huge ocean blue eyes narrow menacingly as they contemplate his countenance!
"Cumi...will you get off my chest!", he moans at the fat, rather spoilt siamese cat who seems to have discovered that Defcon's tummy is a nice, warm place to nap especially in an air-conditioned room.
Rescued from the cruel streets of Singapore 5 years earlier, Cumi, either abandoned or lost by her previous owners, had found refuge under a sharp looking red sports car whose owner had taken pity on her and taken her up to his apartment to feed. Since then, she has discovered the joys of high grade and expensive cat foods, practically tripled her body weight, somehow gotten into her mind that she was as human as anyone else in the household and therefore, has an equal right to the curtains, carpets, chairs, toilet paper, beds, and anything else that we humans consider belongings.
This, in itself, wouldn't have bothered Deffy (as he is fondly known to his friends) so much, except that she seems to have a rather irritating problem not being able to resolve the intended use of each item in the house. Given an example, a simple concept like "beddings are not for pee-pee" seems to elude her from time to time. And "beddings are not for pee-pee especially when Deffy is still in bed", seems to pass her completely, much to the chagrin of Deffy, who has been startled out of bed more than once by the feeling of warm water running down his feet!
Still, she knew how to be quite adorable, and had Deffy firmly twisted round her little finger...or...to be more precise, her little toe.
Flashing Deffy a "why are you such a bother" sort of look as only a siamese cat can, she waddles off to the other side of the bed to find another warm spot. As she leaves his field of vision, bright sunlight streaming through the open windows causes Deffy to squeeze his eyes quickly shut again as the rays of the cheery morning sun seems to penetrate straight to the back of his skull.
"Oh God", he thinks..."I gotta get to bed earlier..."
Eyes still shut, he shifts his not insubstancial bulk towards the edge of the bed and gropes for his handphone on the bedside table. After some clumsy fumbling, he finally manages to retrieve it. Lifting it to his face, he cautiously opens one eye to look at the time. The blurry image slowly resolves itself into numbers as he gropes through the cobwebs of his mind to understand what he is seeing...
"10.10 am...good...just enough time", he thinks, smiling to himself, "So many things to do."
With a loud groan, and an even louder fart...he drags his 115 kg bulk into a siting position on the side of the bed. Learning his lesson from his earlier experience, he cautiously opens his other eye, looking away from the bright, cheery windows. Mumbling to himself about it being time to lose some weight, he gets painfully to his feet and shuffles his way to the bathroom to wash up.
Whilst some may consider the daily ritual of Deffy washing up to be entertaining, most prefer not to know the rather sordid, often unpleasant details. As such, we have decided to omit the section from this story. However, should any be curious, they might try interviewing Deffy's maid who has been known to be moved to the point of tears at the subject of washing up after Deffy...
Feeling a new man, heart pounding with excitement, Deffy bounds down the stairs two at a time, the half wood, half concrete staircase groaning under the punishment, giving the kid, whom he encounters at the bottom of the stairs, a quick pat on the head and a hearty "Good morning, Junior" before bouncing off into the kitchen where he quickly gulps down a cup of warm coffee, gives his wife a peck on the cheek, retrieves his toolkit and heads out for the porch yelling over his shoulder,"I'll be working on the car, darling".
He comes to a stop on his patio just outside his front door, and gazes lovingly at the sleek lines of his Cefiro. Cefiro...no one knows exactly how she got her name. Some say that she was named after the magical realm Cefiro, ruled by the Princess Emeraude. The more likely origin would have come from the dialects of the Sahara where Cefiro means "desert wind", for indeed, she could run like the wind. Equipped with a 210 bhp VQ30DE fully aluminium power plant, she was one of the smoothest and fastest sports saloons ever built and "desert wind" would have described her perfectly - quiet, fast and powerful.
Whistling a merry tune, Deffy puts down his toolbox.
"Let see...what have we got on our plate today", he says to his car. "New Cefiro kicking plates...engine wash...and finally, installing the Pivot Reizzen that's been sitting in the storeroom for the past week...should have all that finished by 1 pm...then quick shower and off to meet the boys". The 'boys" as Deffy called them were hardly boys at all. A fun loving bunch of not too young, not too old, not too over-weight but certainly not too underweight guys, the "boys" constituted the Cefiro Club of Malaysia, a group that Deffy had somehow recently found himself involved with.
Of course, Mrs. Deffy would have had other things to say. She's never really believed that the boys actually discussed serious affairs of the world, like "group joy-riding to Genting", "how to put a turbo into an already over-powered car", "the nature, complexities and nutritional value of engine oils", "spark plugs and how they affect our daily lives", "the significance of ear-rings to a pimped ride", "undercarriage disco lights add hp's to your ride, fact or fiction?"... etc. To most women, a bunch of men getting together was simply another excuse to go out and play. It's no wonder they are the less informed half of the human species...
But, back to Deffy. Today was the day of the great T/T and Deffy was adamant that nothing would keep him away.
Opening his car door, Deffy examines his old kick plates. Made of stainless steel, and seemingly fixed on with 4 small screws, age had worn off the rubber edge lining leaving them knife sharp on every side. A huge “NISSAN” was embossed in the middle of each plate, whereas Deffy’s new set said,”Cefiro”. Still whistling a slightly off key tune, Deffy proceeds to attack the first screw on the driver’s side of the car with a well used screwdriver.
15 minutes, and about 200 revolutions later, it finally begins to dawn on Deffy that this screw is not going to come out.
“Hmmmmm”, he thinks to himself, ”Never mind…some are bound to stick. He proceeds to the second screw and attacks it with renewed gusto.
Another 10 minutes and 150 revolutions pass. A now hot and sweaty Deffy begins to think that this may not be as easy as it seemed earlier. Sitting on the floor next to the car door, he lights a Marlboro and proceeds to get his ponderous intellect into gear.
“Hmmmm…doorstep moulding…kick plates…screws…”, he thinks, frowning deeply as his brain struggles to assimilate the data so soon after waking up, on a Sunday of all days when the majority of Deffy’s brain cells are off for the weekend.
Five puffs and a long moment of contemplation later, a weak spark seems to light up Deffy's dull eyes, “$#@@*%%...let’s try plying them off…”
Gingerly feeling his way around the edges of the door step moulding, Deffy begins to ply them upwards.
“KLACK!”, and the door step moulding pops out cleanly. Looking behind it, Deffy realizes that the screws are affixed to small nuts on the back of the door moulding, which accounts for why they wouldn’t unscrew cleanly out of the moulding in the first place.
“Heh…silly me”, he thinks to himself, his good mood restored, as he proceeds to replace the kick plates on the driver’s side of his car. Finishing off the rear plate, he goes to the other side, only to realize that there is a flower pot blocking his door from opening.
Muttering softly to himself about women and their bloody flower pots, he gets back into the driver’s seat, and proceeds to start the engine.
“Click, click,”…nothing!
“Click, click, grumble”…nothing!
“Click, click, grumble, mumble”, and…the Cefiro’s alarm system triggers, the loudly wailing siren shattering the peacefulness of a suburban Sunday. Clearly panicked, Deffy searches frantically for his original key, as the copy he uses cannot reset the alarm. Finding it in his hip pocket, he quickly depresses the “arm” button whilst turning the key in the ignition. The alarm shuts off, restoring once again the peace and tranquility of the Sunday morning.
“What the hell…?”, mumbles Deffy to himself. By now, the sun is high in the sky, and Deffy is sweating bullets sitting in the hot car still trying to recall some of his absent brain cells from their weekend retreats.
He tries it again....
"Click, click"...nothing!
"Click, click, grumble"...nothing!
"Click, click, grumble, mumble, bash on steering wheel", and...once again the peaceful surburban Sunday is shattered by the loud wailing of the Cefiro's alarm system. Again, Deffy reaches frantically for his original key and resets the alarm.
"%$^&*&@*&^%$%^$#@%", he exclaims as he reaches for the key in the ignition once again.
Now, one of Deffy's more obvious flaws...apart from the rather large paunch he carries around with so much pride...is the fact that he is a stubborn bastard. This can be especially painful on Sundays, when three quarters of Deffy's brain cells decide to go to Gentings for the weekend. Deffy, however, has other views. He calls it "persistence" and "single-mindedness of purpose". Mrs. Deffy just calls it stupid.
Several dozen clicks, mumbles, grumbles, nothings and alarm triggers later, punctuated by the occassional "%$^&*&@*&^%$%^$#@%", and just before the neighbours decide to organize a deligation to give "that fat, foul mouthed bugger" a firm kick in the pants, it dawns upon him that the Cefiro is not going to start no matter how many strings of "%$^&*&@*&^%$%^$#@%" he growls at it.
Clearly purturbed, and struggling to maintain some of that "single-mindedness of purpose", he suddenly sees something dangling down from under the dashboard. Reaching out, he tugs gently at it and realizes that it's a relay that's somehow come loose from inside the dash. The dashboard lights brighten ominously as he pull on it, and dims again when he lets go.
"A-HA!!", he exclaims,"Only a loose wire...heh...easy to fix. Just need to open dash, just a few screws, reconnect wire again, and all will be well", he thinks cheerfully to himself, his good mood returning as he drips a few more quarts of sweat onto the car seat. Glancing quickly at his handphone, he notes that it is almost 1pm.
"A simple 15 minute job", he smirks.
Yet another of Deffy's many flaws is his apparent dedication to positive thinking. Deffy was an undying optimist. Somehow, Deffy has always looked on life as an eternal adventure, a challenging journey from beginning to end. Deffy was just one of those rare breeds whom, if he ever found himself on a plane dripping oil profusely from it's engines, he'd probably say,"Oh good! That means that we still have some". Well, we all know Mrs. Deffy's opinion about that!
Oozing sweat now from every pore, he ponderously makes his way to his toolkit and reaches for another screwdriver...
End of Pt. 1
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