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Hi Wildhorse here, New guy to this forum stuff, so hope you will take it easy on me. Would it help if I said Rick sent me? Any way, I'm from Mount Vernon, Ohio and have been a Ford nut all my life; first built a 427 tunnel port powered 54 Ford that eventually ran 10's in the quarter, then a full race 72 Pinto drag racer with a 351 cleveland engine, a 9.90 car. Currently trying to finish up a 78 Fairmont back half car with a 460, C-6 and 4 links. My street car is a 96 Mustang GT, 4.6, 5 speed and I'm slowly learning how to tune the computers on the newer fuel injected Fords. On the back burner waiting is my next project: an 03 Cobra body-in-white that I bought up in Detroit. I have a 5.4 Triton truck engine for it and a Lightening blower waiting in the wings. Sooo many cars, sooo little time. Oh yeah, I have a few 67 Fairlanes and a 46 Ford coupe that I'm slowly turning into a street rod. Any other Ford guys out there? Looking forward to swapping ideas and learning all I can.

At work one of the guys in shipping isn't the sharpest tool in the shed, though he is a tool. I think he may have ended at 3rd grade. Anyway, we have him quite convinced that whenever our network is slow, he can call up here and request "more throttle" or tells us to "up the gigahertz." We respond with, "I can take some throttle away from so-and-so, but it can only be for a few minutes..." We hang up and wait about 10 seconds and then call him back and say "Alright, we gave you X GHz. Is it faster?" and by no surprise he says that it's running a ton faster. After a while he sort of got the idea that we were toying with him, but he's still convinced we have control over his "throttle" and "upping the GHz in the T1 line" (even though technically we can throttle bandwidth, but don't). After our network admin left last week, I now do the network and ColdFusion/Java stuff so I decided to write this guy a little app so he doesn't have to call me all the time. http://www.plastikhosting.net/uploads/tristanlee85/UpTheGHZ.jar (requires JRE 1.4+) I have it threaded to remove 3% every 20 seconds as well as randomly chooses a number to set the progress value to which is within a range of how much throttle he actually gives himself. This way it looks like it's active and it decreases over time because I told him I can't give him 100% all the time because it wouldn't be fair to other employees.

Why you SHOULDN'T use your cell phones in public bathrooms. All in all, it hadn't been a good day. Bad traffic, a malfunctioning computer, incompetent coworkers and a sore back from hitting golf balls with 1320 all made me a seething cauldron of rage. But more importantly for this story, it had been over forty-eight hours since I'd last taken a dump. I'd tried to jumpstart the process, beginning my day with a bowl of ass cleansing fiber cereal, following it with six cups of coffee at work, and adding a bean-laden lunch at Taco Bell. As I was returning home from work, my insides let me know with subtle rumbles and the emission of the occasional tiny fart that big things would be happening soon. Alas, I had to stop at Fashion Place Mall to pick up some phone accessory for my daughter. I completed this task, and as I was walking past the stores on my way back to the car, I noticed a large sale sign proclaiming, "Everything must go!" This was prophetic, for my colon informed me with a sudden violent cramp and a wet, squeaky fart that everything was indeed about to go. I hurried to the mall bathrooms. I surveyed the five stalls, which I have numbered 1 through 5 for your convenience: Occupied. 2. Clean, but bathroom protocol forbids its use, as it's next to the occupied one. 3. Shit smeared on seat. 4. Shit and toilet paper in bowl, unidentifiable liquid splattered on seat. 5. No toilet paper, no stall door, something growing near base of toilet. Seriously, the people at Fashion Place need to get a clue. Clearly, whether I liked it or not, it had to be Stall #2. I trudged back, entered, dropped ‘trou’ and sat down. I'm normally a fairly shameful shitter. I wasn't happy about being next to the occupied stall, but big things were afoot. I was just getting ready to bear down when all of a sudden the sweet sounds of the Zoob fight song came from next door, followed by a fumbling, and then the sound of a voice answering the ringing phone. As usual for a cell phone conversation, the voice was exactly 8 dB louder than it needed to be. Out of shameful habit, my sphincter slammed shut. The inane conversation went on and on. Mr. Shitter was blathering to his buddy about the shitty day he had and how he just bought the coolest BYU hat. I sat there, cramping and miserable, waiting for him to finish. As the loud conversation dragged on, I became angrier and angrier, thinking that I, too, had a crappy day, but I was too polite to yak about it in public. My ass let me know in no uncertain terms that if I didn't get crapping soon, my day would be getting even crappier. Finally my anger reached a point that overcame shamefulness and I figured screw it; it's just a zoob anyway. I no longer cared. I gripped the toilet paper holder with one hand, braced my other hand against the side of the stall, and pushed with all my might. I was rewarded with a fart of a colossal magnitude -- a cross between the sound of someone ripping a very wet bed sheet in half and of plywood being torn off a wall. The sound gradually transitioned into a heavily modulated low-RPM tone, not unlike someone firing up a Harley. I managed to hit the resonance frequency of the stall, and it shook gently. Once my ass cheeks stopped flapping in the breeze, three things became apparent: The next-door conversation had ceased, my colon's continued seizing indicated that there was more to come, and the bathroom was now beset by a horrible, horrible mind-numbing stench. It was as if a gateway to Hell had been opened. The foul miasma quickly made its way under the stall and began choking my poop-mate. This initial ‘herald’ fart had ended his conversation in mid-sentence. "Oh my GOSH," I heard him utter, following it with suppressed sounds of choking, and then, "No, man, that wasn't me (cough, gag), you could hear that (gag)??" Now there was no stopping me. I pushed for all I was worth. I could swear that in the resulting cacophony of rips, squirts, splashes, poots, and blasts, I was actually lifted slightly off the toilet seat. The amount of stuff in me was incredible. It sprayed against the bowl with tremendous force. Later, in surveying the damage, I'd see that liquid poop had actually managed to ricochet out of the bowl and run down the side on to the floor. But for now, all I could do was hang on for the ride. Next door I could hear him fumbling with the paper dispenser as he desperately tried to finish his task. Little snatches of conversation made themselves heard over my anal symphony: "Gotta go... horrible... throw up...in my mouth... not... make it... tell my wife... love her... oh god..." followed by more sounds of suppressed gagging and retching. Alas, it is evidently difficult to hold one's phone and wipe one's butt at the same time. Just as my high-pressure abuse of the toilet was winding down, I heard a plop and splash from next door, followed by string of HC swear words and gags. My shit-mate had dropped his phone into the toilet. There was a lull in my production, and the restroom became deathly quiet. I could envision him standing there, wondering what to do. A final anal announcement came trumpeting from my behind, small chunks plopping noisily into the water. That must have been the last straw. I heard a flush, a fumbling with the lock, and then the stall door was thrown open. I heard him running out of the bathroom, slamming the door behind him. After a considerable amount of paperwork, I got up and surveyed the damage. I felt bad for the janitor who'd be forced to deal with this, but I knew that flushing was not an option. No toilet in the world could handle that unholy mess. Flushing would only lead to a floor flooded with filth. As I left, I glanced into the next-door stall. Nothing remained in the bowl. Had he flushed his phone, or had he plucked it out and left the bathroom with nasty unwashed hands? The world will never know. I suspect that somehow my supernatural elimination has managed to transfer my shamefulness to my anonymous shit-mate. I think it'll be a long time before he can bring himself to shit in public -- and I doubt he'll ever again answer his cell phone in the john. And this, my friends, is why you should never talk on your phone in the bathroom. Craigslist is full of odd people,but funny people.

http://video.kenblockracing.com/flash/small_player/preloader.swf?vendor_id=204&media_id=9183&bgcolor=FFFFFF&autoplay=0

started on it today when i got some free time. looks so much better! i love these wheels on a fox. http://i163.photobucket.com/albums/t302/88Mustang302/5lugswap001.jpg http://i163.photobucket.com/albums/t302/88Mustang302/5lugswap002.jpg http://i163.photobucket.com/albums/t302/88Mustang302/5lugswap004.jpg http://i163.photobucket.com/albums/t302/88Mustang302/5lugswap005.jpg http://i163.photobucket.com/albums/t302/88Mustang302/5lugswap006.jpg http://i163.photobucket.com/albums/t302/88Mustang302/5lugswap007.jpg http://i163.photobucket.com/albums/t302/88Mustang302/5lugswap008.jpg http://i163.photobucket.com/albums/t302/88Mustang302/5lugswap009.jpg http://i163.photobucket.com/albums/t302/88Mustang302/5lugswap010.jpg

1. Ideal = existing as an archetypal idea or relating to philosophical idealism 2. Idea = formulated thought or opinion I think you are looking for number 2 here. Please try to speak like you are from the non-hillbilly part of the known universe if possible. This is almost as bad as saying "wall-marts" Remember paint is for cars, not huffing. Back to the flame fest

When you get your temps, make sure you put your car into twin trees so you both die.

There's some bad cars up there.

Yeah i called him last night me and wife will be looking at a female

Was that the absolute best picture they had of that guy? "Okay, now, can you show me confused douche? Yes, yes, that's it, give it to me, yes, work it..."

Were both 5'10" and yeah we can reach the "pedals" and were old enough to drive right now. But we'll wait and get our temps in March or so.

look you dont owe them anything so you do not have to prove anything to no one.