Funniest thing I ever saw on Bimmernut...

[e34.535i.sport]

Resurrecting this peice of genius, and thanking Winfred for posting it! I saved it to my computer a looooong time ago and came across it recently... I'm sure those who haven't seen it will appreciate it!



Racing fools....

I borrowed my wife's Geo Metro last night. One liter of raw power, 3 cylinders of asphalt-tearing terror on thirteen-inch rims. It's stock, alright, nothing done to it, but it pushes the barely 2000 pounds of Metro around with AUTHORITY. I'm always catching mopeds and 18-wheelers by surprise...I was headed back from Baskin Robbins with my manly triple-latte cappuccino blast ("No Cinnamon, ma'am, I take it BLACK"), when I stopped at a streetlight. As the Metro throbbed its throaty idle around me, I sipped my bold beverage and wiped the white froth my stiff upper lip. I was minding my own business, but then I heard a rev from the next lane. I turned, made eye contact, then let my eyes trace over the competition.

Ford Festiva -- a late model, could be trouble. Low profile tires, curb feelers, and schoolbus-yellow paint. Yep, a hot rod, for sure. The howl of his motor snapped my reverie, and I looked back into the driver's eyes, nodded, then blipped my own throttle. As I tugged on my driving gloves and slipped on my sunglasses (gotta look cool to be fast, and I am *damn* cool, hence...), the night was split with the sound of seven screaming cylinders...Then the light turned... I almost had him out of the hole, my three pounding cylinders thrusting me at least a millimeter back into my seat, as smoke pouring from my front right tire... my unlimited slip differential was letting me down! I saw in the corner of my eyes, a yellow snout gaining, and I heard the roar of* his four cylinders. He slung by me, right front wheel juddering against the pavement, and he flashed me a smile as his .7 extra liters of motor stretched its legs. I kept my foot gamely in it, though, waiting for the CHECK ENGINE light to blink on in the one-gauge (no tachometer here!) instrument panel. I saw a glimpse of chrome under his bumper, and knew the ugly truth...He was running a custom exhaust --probably a 2-into-1 dual exhaust... maybe even cutouts! Damn his hot-rod soul! The old lady passing us on the crosswalk cast a dirty look in our boy-racer direction...Yet still I persisted, with my three pumping pistons singing a heady high-pitched song, wound fully out. Though only a few handfuls of seconds had passed, we were nearing the crosswalk at the other side of the intersection, and I heard the note of his engine change as he made his shift to second, and I saw his grin in his rearview mirror fade as he missed the shift! I rocketed by, shifting, and nursed the clutch gently in to keep from bogging, keeping my motor spinning hot and pulling me ahead, now trailing a cloud of stinking clutch smoke. Not ready to give up so easily, he left his foot in it, revving, and I heard one wheel *almost* chirp as he finally found second and dropped the clutch. We careened over the crosswalk, now going at least 15 miles per hour. A bicyclist passed us, but intent on the race as we were, neither of us batted an eye. He pulled slowly abreast of me, and neck and neck, we made the shift to third, the scream of motors deafening all pedestrians within a five foot circle. He nosed ahead as we passed 30 miles an hour, then eased in front of me, taunting, as we shifted into fourth. I was staring up the dual 6" chrome tips of his exhaust, snarling, my cappuccino forgotten, as he lifted a little to take the next corner. I saw my opportunity, and counting on the innate agility of* my trusty steed, I pulled wide into the number two lane and kept my foot buried in carpet. Slowly, I inched around him, feeling my Metro roll slowly to the left as I came abreast in the midst of this gradual sweeping turn. I felt the Geo ease onto its suspension stops, and felt the right rear wheel slowly leave the ground - no matter, though, because my drive wheels, up front, were pulling me through the corner, and around the Festiva ...The Ford driver beat his wheel in rage as my wife's car eased past him on the outside, my P165/54R13's screaming in protest, as we raced to the next light. We coasted down, neck-and neck, to the red light. I tightened my driving gloves, ready for another round, when this WIMP in the next car meekly flipped his turn signal and made a right. Chevy(Suzuki) superiority reigns!!!I drove off sipping my masculine drink, awash in my sheer virility, looking for other unwitting targets.... Perhaps a Yugo, or maybe even a Volkswagon Van!

[632 Regal]

Again it makes me laugh, a work of art.

[mikell]

My favorite Winfred posting was one about a killer fart in line at Disney Land - can't find it now, but I laughed my ass off.

[mzarifkar]

a literary masterpiece

[shogun]

How I Fixed The Gong - by Ian Nicholson

the best post on bong/gong/chime issues
an old time post I just found again

Hi Everyone,

Well, my gong didn't work. All the readings of the manual telling me how the gong would warn me of all manner of things left me feeling empty, worthless and alone.

All my friends on bimmer.info had working gongs - and loved them. For me, the sound of silence announced the Check Control display. I could only look on with weary eyes and wonder what 's song could possibly accompany the sheer poetry of "LIMIT 50Km/h".

Alas, I was doomed never to hear the dulcet tone of the BMW E34 5 series gong... or was I?

At once, in a fit of determined outrage I clutched my electric screwdriver and launched myself at the unsuspecting screws that held the panel between the pedals and my steering wheel closely cosseted to the bosom of my Five.

Each fell and surrendered themselves as dull thuds to the footwell carpet.

Soon, and with great trepidation, I gently peeled the panel away. Blinking in the dark I reached for the glovebox torch, and in its pearly light I caught a glimpse of my prize. For there, mummified among the soundproof padding in all it's revealed magnificence was... the BMW gong.

I gently pinched the clips that held it fast in the panel, and plucked the leads such that it dropped as would a ripened fruit into my hands.

Back inside, I pondered this sonic sarcophagus and laid my plans to reveal its contents. Prising each of the four sprung fasteners in turn, I pushed a strip from some forgotten blister back to hold them back. Teasing the top of the Gong out into the light revealed the marvel of modern electronics that BMW themselves demanded a handsome purse of AU$225 to replace.

But there, below, was the source of my scourge. A scurrilously cheap 50mm speaker, cunningly deployed when the rest of the world uses 57mm speakers in their computers and the like. The cruelty! A quick continuity check confirmed my fears, this cancerous component was the source of my misery.

Hunting the malls of the world wide web I found my answer - a 2-inch wide range speaker from Jaycar:

http://www.jaycar.com.au/

With my trusty tinsnips, I cut more corners off my speaker than BMW did theirs.

And lo, the speaker fit, and it was good. Freshly partnered to the ancient circuit board with honest solder I quickly reassembled the unit.

Rushing back to my eagerly-awaiting Five I inserted the cables and...

"Bing..." - "LIGHTS ON?"

A tear sprung in my eye...

"Bing...!" - "LIGHTS ON?"

I wanted more. In went the key and the 3.0 litre V8 roared into life! Like a giddy schoolboy I punched the LIMIT button and entered 50km/h.

Off I flew into the night...

"Bing...!" - "LIMIT 50Km/h"

With tears welling in my eyes I could no longer see and had to stop for fear of crashing....

Now we're together I want us never to be apart. My friends are talking to me once more and now my life is complete... again.




Fin.

[e34.535i.sport]

LOL!!! I love it!

[mzarifkar]

I tuned my speaker with a strip of tape covering the opening, the hollow resonance reflects a nostalgic seriousness to days of yore when my dash would be able to say things like LIGHT ON? Now, the beep is all that remains when the poor dash manages to utter out a $^^$##$@@ $$%????##??%// at best.