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We need a third goon to follow them as support and to document this entire thing.
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May 9, 2016 23:43
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ExplodingSims posted:Tire are there, and appear to be ok, but I wouldn't trust them on the road. quote:Upskirt shot:
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May 10, 2016 00:18
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Darchangel posted:Unless I'm very much mistaken, those aren't split-rims, so you don't have to worry about that, at least. Isn't this the lock ring? And tires from 1998 BEST CASE scenario. 
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May 10, 2016 00:30
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Rhyno posted:We need a third goon to follow them as support and to document this entire thing. Seat Safety Switch has found the perfect outlet for his unique set of skills.
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May 10, 2016 00:59
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McTinkerson posted:Seat Safety Switch has found the perfect outlet for his unique set of skills. I asked for a roadtrip, and for my sins they gave me one. Brought it up to me like room service. It was a real choice roadtrip, and when it was over, I never wanted another. I was going to the worst place in the world and I didn't even know it yet. Weeks away and hundreds of miles up an interstate highway that snaked through America like an IV line full of fentanyl and cable news plugged straight into Trump. It was no accident that I got to be the caretaker of the last moments of 14 Inch any more than being back in the Nebraska poo poo was an accident. There is no way to tell his story without telling my own. And if his story really is a confession, then so is mine. Seat Safety Switch fucked around with this message at 01:03 on May 10, 2016 |
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May 10, 2016 01:00
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"Sally." A mutter. "Wake up now, Sally." A louder mutter: leeme lone. He shook her harder. "Wake up. You got to wake up!" Seat. Seat's voice. Calling her. For how long? Sally swam up out of sleep. First she glanced at the clock on the night table and saw it was quarter past two in the morning. Seat shouldn't even be here; he should be on shift. Then she got her first good look at him and something leaped up inside her, some deadly intuition. Her husband was deathly pale. His eyes started and bulged from their sockets. The car keys were in one hand. He was still using the other to shake her, although her eyes were open. It was as if he hadn't been able to register the fact that she was awake. "Seat, what is it? What's wrong?" He didn't seem to know what to say. His Adam's apple bobbed futilely but there was no sound in the small service bungalow but the ticking of the clock. "Is it a fire?" she asked stupidly. It was the only thing she could think of which might have put him in such a state. She knew his parents had perished in a housefire. "In a way," he said. "In a way it's worse. You got to get dressed, honey. Get IoC. We got to get out of here." "Why?" she asked, getting out of bed. Dark fear had seized her. Nothing seemed right. This was like a dream. "Where? You mean the back yard?" But she knew it wasn't the back yard. She had never seen Seat look afraid like this. She drew a deep breath and could smell no smoke or burning. "Sally, honey, don't ask questions. We have to get away. Far away. You just go get Baby IoC and get him dressed." "But should I . . . is there time to pack?" This seemed to stop him. To derail him somehow. She thought she was as afraid as she could be, but apparently she wasn't. She recognized that what she had taken for fright on his part was closer to raw panic. He ran a distracted hand through his hair and replied, "I don't know. I'll have to test the wind." And he left her with this bizarre statement which meant nothing to her, left her standing cold and afraid and disoriented in her bare feet and babydoll nightie. It was as if he had gone mad. What did testing the wind have to do with whether or not she had time to pack? And where was far away? Reno? Vegas? Salt Lake City? And . . . She put her hand against her throat as a new idea struck her. AWOL. Leaving in the middle of the night meant Seat was planning to go AWOL.
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May 10, 2016 01:18
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They couldn't tell me the American Dream was dead. For starters, nobody could agree what it looked like when it was alive. Maybe at most there were some furtive allusions to material possessions. A big, powerful car. That's one of the only things people could agree on. Everyone wanted more horsepower than the next guy, even if it would destroy them. Thing is, the more I thought about what we were doing, the more I realized we were mainlining pure strain America. This morning, a no-poo poo bald eagle flew over the camp, crying tears of joy. Or maybe it was semen. Either way, 14 only told me it was salty.
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May 10, 2016 01:20
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Garbage Dick posted:Isn't this the lock ring? And tires from 1998 BEST CASE scenario. Yep, and it's a decent 3 piece wheel. gently caress knows what it looks like on the inside but it's not a widowmaker by design at least. Goodyear definitely stopped putting those diamonds on the sidewalls of their on-road offerings before 1998. 78 is my guess. Wouldn't run those to the 7-11 and back. Good news: 7.50-20 is a drat close match to a 255/70R22.5 which is very easy to find. Doesn't look like a standard Budd wheel though, finding a 22.5 wheel in that pattern could get interesting.
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May 10, 2016 03:04
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SSS squinted into the sun, a hand up, trying futilely to mask the diffracted splinters of sun thrown by the dust on the windshield. In front of him, throwing up that very dust, was The Truck. Big; massive, even. Rusty. Or just rust; it was hard to tell. The Truck had a presence about it, a solidity. A density of coalescence, as if rust wasn’t a thing that had happened to it, but a thing that it was. That it embodied and became. The Truck. He capitalised it in his internal monologue, now. He didn’t know why. It did that to you. It did things to your brain and your subconscious and somewhere, deep down in the cortex, in the part of the hindbrain that whimpers in the night at the shadows on the cave wall and that shivers at the scream of feral dogs—somewhere deep down, something was screaming. SSS thought it might be him. He didn’t know. He didn’t think about it. He drove, following. The ‘tropes kept him awake. 36 hours and counting. Neon strips lit up gas stations like prison bars. Lot lizards looked up and then looked away, seeing something in the way he dropped the hood after checking the oil. Something… other. Something feral. Something missing. Up ahead, the man he knew only as 14 Inch was curled up in the bed of the truck, jolting on the metal floor as the truck rode the potholes and the bumps and the rhythmic thrmthrmthrm of the asphalt strips where the road had been repaired. He was sleeping, or at least he looked like it. A cigarette dangled between his lips; the vortexes shed from the cab stripped the smoke into the slipstream like blood and water in a blender. He might almost have been smiling. SSS didn’t know what 14” was. He exuded hurt; barely-concealed fragility poured off him like waves. He was an open wound; raw, weeping, one that wouldn’t close. And yet… there was a pride. He revelled in it. Challenged you, threw his agony in your face and dared you to reach into your core and find the sympathy dial and ramp that up to eleven, and every time you got close he’d laugh and laugh and laugh, wreathed in cigarette smoke and tattoos that bore witness to his time in a cell. Whose cell, SSS didn’t know. Didn’t want to know. All he knew was that The Truck and 14” had an understanding. He’d seen 14” speaking to it, a hand on its offside front wheel. It was a kind of communion, and something between SSS’s shoulderblades would itch every time. And then 14” would be deep into the engine bay, almost inside it, and SSS swore he heard crooning. He didn’t know which of them it was. He didn’t know much, now. 48 hours. ‘tropes and synthetic amphets made by child labour in China. He’d started smoking. He didn’t know when. 56 hours. The gauge said empty, but the car kept going, chained to The Truck by something he couldn’t name, falling down and down and down into its gravity well. SS saw. He Saw. And he remembered. Nothing made sense. Probably never would, not now. But he Saw. And he Remembered.
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May 10, 2016 12:50
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Who's Randall Flagg in this one
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May 10, 2016 15:11
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Tommychu posted:Yep, and it's a decent 3 piece wheel. gently caress knows what it looks like on the inside but it's not a widowmaker by design at least. Better news, period-correct milsurp 11.00x20s (42"!) are dirt cheap ($150ea) from 100dollarman and milsurp 395/85R20s (46"!) are dirt cheap from any number of sources ($195 to $300 is what I'm seeing.) You wanted a war rig, right?    Seriously though, 7.50-20 is what, 35" OD, 7.5" wide? I can't remember how the section width works on the old tire sizes. 35" rubber for 20" wheels is super common due to bro truckers, though switching away from 3 piece wheels would probably be wise. What's the PCD on those? stovebolt has some info: http://www.stovebolt.com/techtips/wheels/ which indicates 10x7.25 lug pattern, 4.75" centerbore, hub-piloted. It also has a lot of info about finding new wheels. Dumb question, why can't you use stud-piloted wheels with conical lug nuts and forget about the whole issue, rather than all this goofy poo poo about making a hub adapter and keeping the flat hub-piloted lug nuts? Are the lug studs not precisely located on the hub-piloted hubs/drums or something? I've never really understood this, if everything is well designed and accurately machined either should work as long as the right lug nuts are used.
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May 10, 2016 16:21
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SSS and 14 keep writing... this thread just got riveting.
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May 11, 2016 05:29
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rscott posted:Who's Randall Flagg in this one I figured it would be 14" himself. The Walking Dude (because his car poo poo out again)
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May 11, 2016 05:31
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Rust. Heat. That loving sun. Why the gently caress did I take this job? Sweat in my eyes again. Stings. Asbestos dust packed under the ragged stumps of what once passed for fingernals. Keep it together. What day is it? So confused. God drat i'm hungry. Smoke drifting through the field. Cooking. Oily smoke. Meat. Truck. Truck? Yeah, still there. Couldn't get it off. Couldn't break it loose. Got stuck here. Where the gently caress is here? Where the gently caress are the others? Hammer feels funny. Kinda slippery. Kind of sticky. Smells wierd. Smells like meat. What's with the sun, anyways? Brake failure? What was....something...failed. Great sound, wasn't it? Wait, what sound? Wet. Crack. Like a melon, but harder. Heh. Hammer's slipping out of my hands again. Man that's red. Truck ain't red though. Truck's green. Yep, still green. Mostly. Where the gently caress'r they? drat that smells good. Good old barbeque. poo poo's hot. Food's hot. Let's eat.
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May 11, 2016 07:09
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Alberta. poo poo. I was still only in Alberta. Every time I think I'm gonna wake up back on Aurora. When I was home after my first shop, it was worse. I'd wake up and there'd be nothing. I hardly said a word to my Honda, until I said "yes" to a frame-up resto. When I was here, I wanted to be there; when I was there, all I could think of was getting back into the bay. I'm here a week now... waiting for a truck... getting softer. Every minute I stay in this Honda, I get weaker, and every minute Seat Safety Switch squats in the truck, he gets stronger. Each time I looked around, the walls moved in a little tighter. My mission is to proceed up to YYC in a Westjet 727. Pick up the truck's path at Frank, follow it and learn what I can along the way. When I find the truck, make it move under its own power by whatever means available and terminate... the truck's immobility. Terminate... the truck? Terminate... with extreme prejudice. ninja: from memory, motherfuckers. Apocalypse Now is my favourite movie of all time.
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May 11, 2016 07:31
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14" was not into serious street-modding, but he was hell on wheels in a shop bay. Any combination of a scrawny white kid and WD-40 is a potentially terminal menace for anything it can reach – but when the alleged kid is in fact a profoundly disturbed flat rate mechanic with no fear at all of anything that rolls on less than six wheels and a de facto suicidal conviction that he will die at the age of 33 – just like Jesus Christ – you have a serious piece of work on your hands. Especially if the bastard is already 33½ years old with a head full of asbestos dust, a loaded air gun in his belt, a sledge-wielding black thumb on his elbow at all times, and a disconcerting habit of projectile vomiting geysers of pure blood off the front porch every 30 or 40 minutes, or whenever his malignant ulcer can't handle any more raw tequila. Apologies to HST, but it fit the mood.
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May 11, 2016 10:57
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What the gently caress is going on in here 
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May 11, 2016 11:41
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some texas redneck posted:What the gently caress is going on in here The events of the future surrounding that truck are so powerful it's echoing back through to the present and erupting through the posts of those most effected.
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May 11, 2016 12:58
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We're not sure exactly what broke casuality - what event shattered time itself like a sparkplug through safety glass. All we know for sure is that one moment, a fool and a flat-rate mechanic laid hands on the Truck, and the next, causes and effects weren't connected anymore. It took a lot of hard work, and more cut and paste jobs than you would be comfortable to know, but we managed to get everything lined up and pointed in the same direction and held together with the temporal equivalent of chewing gum and hope. It was ugly, but it let the event and the Truck slide into history, let tomorrow happen, and we'll call that a victory. But there is a white-hot 14" hole in the timeline, one that actively rejected any of the shards we tried to reassemble over it, poisoned those shattered pieces so terribly that we had to leave them on the cutting room floor when we were finished. The hole leads somewhere, and if there are any gods who might forgive them, perhaps Blomquist and ExplodingSims might find their way through it, back home. (You didn't actually believe they shot every damned movie in Vancouver, did you? It was the only city with enough continuity left to paste in those particular holes. Entire chunks of other cities are missing or warped into maddening shapes - we just folded space around those bad spots and glued the edges together, relying on the ability of the human mind to make sense of nonsense to smooth over the discontinuities. Hell, San Diablo, California, where they filmed a good quarter of every movie made, is just gone. Vancouver doesn't even make sense as a filming location, but it's what we had - and after gluing in a few spare bits of Chicago, Mumbai, and Guangzhou, it even almost works.) rndmnmbr fucked around with this message at 18:01 on May 11, 2016 |
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May 11, 2016 17:27
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some texas redneck posted:What the gently caress is going on in here It's De-Evolution baby
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May 12, 2016 00:16
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AI is getting crazier and crazier and I love it. First was Kastein and Pipkin flying to Colorado to buy the Justy, then I bought a van for fish and shipped it to Virginia with multiple goons getting it running for when fish visits the USA, and now this. Shine on you crazy diamonds. 
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May 12, 2016 00:34
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As I sit here broken parted Bump the clutch to get it started Time to merge I see my chance Money shift and poo poo my pants
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May 12, 2016 02:08
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http://desmoines.craigslist.org/cto/5559820967.html So, I just found another bad idea...
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May 12, 2016 02:50
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Someone else can buy that one....Then: RESTORATION RACE GOOOOOOOO
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May 12, 2016 02:57
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Presented without comment.
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May 12, 2016 04:50
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ishikabibble posted:Presented without comment. Had no idea Chevy did a retro truck in 1994.
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May 12, 2016 04:51
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The Locator posted:Had no idea Chevy did a retro truck in 1994. Probably an S-10 chassis, those are pretty popular for this sort of thing.
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May 12, 2016 04:52
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This thread is a large part of why I just bought a non running Datsun, so good job. Mine only had to go 50 yards to get home, though, not 2000 miles. Shine on you crazy diamonds.
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May 12, 2016 05:32
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some texas redneck posted:What the gently caress is going on in here Something truly amazing
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May 12, 2016 11:01
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 I don't even know that much about cars and I'm dying to see this through to the end. I'd say "buckle in" but does that truck even come with seat belts?
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May 12, 2016 16:58
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Faerunner posted:
No it does not. Also gas tank mounted directly behind you.
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May 12, 2016 17:22
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djdanno13 posted:Also gas tank mounted directly behind you. AKA an ejector seat.
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May 12, 2016 17:23
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Ride Eternal, Shiny and Chrome.
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May 12, 2016 17:30
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Faerunner posted:Ride Eternal, Shiny and Chrome. By my deeds I honor him, V8. 
HandlingByJebus fucked around with this message at 19:34 on May 12, 2016 |
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May 12, 2016 19:32
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Truck of Longinus crash cart beta 
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May 12, 2016 22:07
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I hope that dude is ready to buy some surge!
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May 12, 2016 22:18
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Get me a shipping address and I'll send a case to the operating theater. Least I could do.
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May 12, 2016 22:21
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Garbage Dick posted:Isn't this the lock ring? And tires from 1998 BEST CASE scenario. I guess so. Looked different from the split-rims I've seen, but those were 3/4-ton '70 Chevy versions. Also: whoa, the poetry in here.
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May 12, 2016 23:03
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Liquid Communism posted:http://desmoines.craigslist.org/cto/5559820967.html ishikabibble posted:Presented without comment. You guys are thinking in the wrong direction, for you see, for my next bad truck purchase things will be going up, uP, UP! Over the engine 
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May 12, 2016 23:54
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everdave posted:loving with some rusted rear end split rims in a field somewhere without a safety cage I know this is from a couple pages back, but my father and I once got it in our heads to replace the front tires on his 70yo MF304 backhoe with only hand tools and an air compressor. The rims were rusty as gently caress (including the lock rings) and in the end we decided to put the one wheel we'd gotten apart back together and leave well enough alone. I clenched very hard when the bead popped back into place. E: These wheels are supposed to be ballasted too.
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May 13, 2016 02:20
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