In Defence of the Tailgater

I used to hate tailgaters. Their weaving from side to side used to annoy me; their flashing sometimes distracted me; their insistent presence and need to impress me of the urgency of their travel by arranging their front bumper to be as close as possible to my rear bumper at high speeds was, though an impressive display of driving skill, pissed me off all the same. And if that did not irk me enough, these people tended to drive cars that I will never be able to afford - you know, the ones you see in the magazine which talks about all its mouth watering and underwear wetting features without any discussion about the price. That's the one.

That hatred has gone with the introduction of a more intimate understanding of the tailgater and even now sees me celebrating the culture of tailgating. That's right, I now intend to justify the bastardly acts of some of the tailgating community and demonstrate that how they are necessary if not vital for the smooth running of the motor vehicle community.

Tailgaters are generally people who have an affinity for order. This is not just any order but an order that is reflective of your personality and lifestyle and how ones internal personal preference should be properly ordered in a communal space. For those who don't understand what I just wrote it basically means this: If you drive like a slow fuck, stay on the left lane and don't you dare spend even thirty seconds on the overtaking lane 'cos your ass is flashed. Tailgaters therefore are like antibodies of the fast lane that viciously and mercilessly expel those slow and ignorant drivers from the right lane. Another proposition can therefore be brought forth from this meditation: On the road, to be fast is to be right. You cannot be slow and right. If you are slow and on the right, you are wrong and deserve all the honking, flashing and disgusted filthy glances of the tailgater.

Tailgaters therefore render a service not just for the police in ensuring that the right lanes are used but also to the economy itself. Since time is money and driving slow is the loss of potential revenue, tailgaters in truth, ensuring that the wheels of economy keep turning at a faster rate. One would note that countries with no reported tailgaters tend to be failing economies (they also tend not to have cars, but thats beside the point).

Tailgaters also weed out the lazy drivers who stick to the right lane and drive below the speed limit because they are too lazy to switch lanes. Yes, despite the high degree of automation in driving a car, there are vile people who are too lazy to make the smallest of turns to the left to switch lanes. These are spawns of the ancient automotive vehicle god, Caroth, who have been sent to plague us. Though killing them does give one bonus points in heaven, I would not encourage that due to local laws - so please check your local listings (and let me know if your country doesn't have such a law, I plan to set up a second home there).

So dear tailgater - you are in the right. Feel no shame. Don't apologize. Now you have a written justification for it as well. Honk, flash and weave at will. Flash them that disgusted look, throw in a middle finger. The world depends on it. It's your right because you're fast. Only the fast and furious survive. Don't believe me? Check out the three movie franchises on the fast and furious. It's inevitable. So make the world a better place - tailgate.

Pedalling the Metal

I love to speed on the highway. But I don't think I'm very good at it. I met a speed freak by the name of Sree once who told me that he made the trip from Kuala Lumpur to Penang, toll to toll, in two hours, in his souped up Golf. Since I'm a guy, I'm entitled to do silly things without explanation, so with that in mind, on my next trip to Penang, I decided that I would put pedal to the metal. There would be none of that artful feathering of the pedal or eloquent steering like I'm sure my friend and speed connoiseur, Art Harun, would have pulled had he done the same stretch. I was a man on the mission. If the degree of one's machoness was directly related to the speed one traveled at, I wanted the highest damn degree. I picked a late departure at around eight o'clock at night hoping that the highway would for the most part be deserted.

As I passed the toll at Damansara, the beep from my Smart Tag told me that the game was on. So after the long roundabout into the main track... I mean highway, I floored my black big assed Honda Accord 2.4. I am still not quite sure how on earth Sree did it. It was hard maintaining a cruising speed of 160 km/h because of the bloody traffic, which even though was sporadic, was significant enough to eat into my fly time. Doing that in the dark of night also not something I would now encourage others (although the dark of morning is another matter!). I had a few near misses with some cars, some railings and thankfully the tyres held at about 130 km/h on a wet surface (yes, I was nuts but it was a straight stretch and that goddamn water was slowing me down!). After fending off the call of the bathroom, almost totalling my car on several occasions and no doubt scaring many people on the road, I made it to the Penang toll. Not bad. I beat my last time by fifteen minutes. I made it in two hours and fourty five minutes.

I know it was still fourty five minutes off the pace but I thought that the time would merit some encouragement from him when I saw him next. Maybe he could give me tips on how I could deal with the drizzle, traffic, darkness and perhaps suggest a change of car (you never know!). When I finally saw him a few months later at some function, I enthusiastically told him of my attempt to better him and after my thrilling story (probably not for him) announced my time. He smiled beningnly at me and told me that it was pretty good for a first try. He then went on to tell me that his wife made the trip in her souped up Satria in two hours twenty minutes. Bastard.

But I made the Damansara toll to the Johor Bahru toll in two hours and a half hours today! (That's decent right? [Please say yes!])

the way of the Samurai... #2

Get in. Belt up. And hang on for your dear life!!! Click here!

the way of the Samurai...

“God it’s hot!”, I was saying to myself as I wound down the window to let in more air. My t-shirt was drenched in sweat. And I could feel sweat running down my legs down to my feet. My socks were almost soaked. The only thing preventing my face from being drowned with sweat was the cotton balaclava, which covered much of my face. It was getting uncomfortable. I looked at the digital clock on the dashboard and it says 2.30pm!

I was powering along the back straight of the Sepang F1 track. That must have been the 7^th lap and I was feeling kind of thirsty. A quick look at the oil temperature and it was hovering around 110 degrees. The engine temperature was normal. Exhaust temperature was on a high side but there was nothing alarming about it. Everything else was okay except for the old OS Giken double plate clutch. Well, that clutch was working up that day, refusing to let me upshift from 3^rd to 4^th smoothly at high rev. I had to double clutch before I could do so and that in turn caused me about 1 second on every upshifting from 3^rd to 4^th! Bloody hell! I was cursing the whole day. But then again, it was high time that that clutch takes a one-way ticket to junksville. It’s been more than 2 years, more than 200 laps around the F1 track and more than 10 quarter mile launches at 7000rpm or above!

I turned towards my brother and said, “hey, I wanna pit after this. This next lap will be our cooling down lap okay”. He just nodded. Turn 14, the hairpin which connects the back with the front straight, was looming ahead. I went to the left, gave the huge 6 pot AP Racing callipers a tight squeeze on the 14 inch rotors, kick the heavy clutch to the floor and downshifted to 3^rd. As I de-clutched, the engine roared as the tacho needle jumped to about 5000rpm. I did not bother downshifting to 2^nd as I did not plan to take the 0.9km front straight in full speed. After all, it was going to be my cooling down lap. I turned the steering towards the apex of the left turn and the nose just slid to the left. No complaint. No tyre screeching. Completely indifferent. Absolutely nonchalant. The car then drifted to the right edge of the track as we exited the tight left hander. I straightened the nose and after a while upshifted to 4^th. The car walked lazily along the front straight.

That was to be a cooling down lap during which I would drive the car as slow as I could possibly do without being hauled up by the marshals for obstructing other cars. The on rushing air would then cool down the engine oil, coolant, brake rotors and almost everything else. It was time to cool us as well. I reached for the air-cond button and gave it a push. Hmm…this is going to be boring…

As I passed the start-finish line, I upshifted to 5^th and feather the accelerator. The GTR lazily swaggered at about 130kph along the front straight while gobbling the onrushing air into its huge air filter and under its carbon bonnet. There were some guys standing by the pit wall under the hot sun waiting to see some cars eating up the tarmac along the straight or to take pictures. There were even some long suffering girl friends or wives of these guys standing alongside them wondering what all the fuss about cars going round and round a circuit was about!

I was winding up the window when I heard a thunderous roar from the pit lane. Instinctively, I turned to the right and there she was. A huge-assed Lamborghini Murcielago, the ultimate Lambo of the moment, all 1650kgm of curvaceous steel and carbon fibre. 6.2 litres, mid-mounted V12, 48 valves, quad-cam, 4wd, 620 bhp with a nauseating 650Nm of torque available at just about 5400rpm. This is about brute. This is about raw power. This is about untold wealth. This is about grabing attention. This is about the best the Italian could come up with. Well, almost Italian, actually, as Lamborghini has now been owned by Volkswagen, away from the clutches of some Malaysians and Indonesians, who, during their reign as owners did next to nothing to improve the image of Lamborghini as a premier super car manufacturer. That was a sad episode in the long history of Lamborghini, especially when one considers that arguably, the Lamborghini Countach was the car for which the words “super cars” were invented.

I could see “the bull” sauntered out of its pit and within a few seconds, it gave out a symphony of irrepressible mechanical screams mixed with minor but rapid explosions of burnt fuel and it whizzed past my car from the pit lane. My jaw dropped at the stupidity of it all. I mean, what was the driver trying to prove? That he was a really fast driver in the pit lane? Or was he just trying to show off? Why would an owner/driver of a Lambo, a Murcielago at that, speed along the pit lane, especially when there were people at the pit wall? Good God! Talk about monkeys with flowers!

You are not pitting until you overtake that Lambo!” screamed my brother. Oh shyte, there I was, hot and bothered, not to mention thirsty, in a car which had done 7 laps under the searing heat of Sepang, with a clutch that was more than hinting signs of retiring age, doing a lap in which I was supposed to cool down the car and this guy beside me wanted me to overtake a Murcielago, which was then a full 150 meters away in front of me! What if my clutch completely failed? What if my GTR overheated and ground to a halt? What if my brake fluid boiled when I was doing 180kph as I approached turn 4? You think I am stupid? No, I am not stupid. I am just plain mad!

“Erm, okay…” I said to my brother. With that I switched off the air-cond and wound down the window a bit to let some air into the cock pit. I looked at the boost controller and I was already at full boost of 1.55 bar. There was no way my GTR could match the mighty bull in terms of brute power and torque. All I could rely upon was the GTR’s renown handling around the tight turns, as well as the long sweeping ones, and the strength of its famous RB26 DETT engine which is known to be almost indestructible. If I were to overtake this bull, I knew I had to be fast around the corners and I had to maintain high rev all the while, which meant I had to red line the car at 8500rpm at every gear change! Let’s just hope my clutch would not retire. Let’s juts pray my engine would not overheat! Amen…

I was thinking, there were 3 factors which may work in my favour. Firstly, the Murcielago cost a whopping 1.4 million smackeroons. Being so, the driver was no going to throw about that car as I would my GTR. Secondly, that car was new and I presumed it is a factory-spec car. In contrast, my GTR was loaded with racing parts, mostly from the renowned Japanese racing parts manufacturer, HKS. The engine has been built to sustain at least 9000 rpm, massaged and tuned by non other than Nagata San, of Top Secret. Nagata San, when he was not tuning cars, could be caught on videos doing 200 mph (read carefully, 200 MILES per hour!) in a GTR in a tunnel in France! Absolute madcap! Thirdly, and this was going to be the clincher, my humongous 275/35/18 soft compound Bridgestones tyres had already done 7 laps and they were all heated up nicely and that means instant grip and better traction. The Lambo’s tyres were as cold as Anna Nicole Smith!

The bull whizzed out of the pit lane, the twin tail pipes blaring loud pop and crackles from the cold V12. The brake light went on momentarily as the driver braked before diving to the right at turn 1. I was at the 200 meter mark on the front straight, which meant I was about 200 meters away from turn 1. As I was downshifting to 2^nd, the Lambo slithered its way around turn 1 before drifting out to the left to attack the 2^nd turn left apex. I was hugging the inside line of turn 1 when the Lambo roared its way out of turn 2 down the lovely sweeping right curve of turn 3. Turn 3 is a beautiful 3^rd gear flat out sweeping right turn leading into a short straight before the uphill 90 degree right hander that is turn 4. It is my favourite turn at Sepang. Taken smoothly and beautifully, the GTR would just go into a 4 wheel drift while exiting this turn. It is an experience like no other.

The Lambo, a glob of 1.65 tonne of Italian steel, glided along turn 3, powering its way into the short straight. It was a sight to behold. It was almost defying the law of physic. How could a huge and heavy object glide along a sweeping curve at high speed? As it reached the 200 meter mark, I saw the brake light. Gosh, that was one hell of an early braking, I thought. Hmmm…the driver was obviously having a confidence crisis or it was a borrowed car! If he was going to brake early at every turn at Sepang, he might lose at least a quarter of a second at every time he did that, and that would mean for every lap, he would lose a total of 3.5 seconds around the 14 turn circuit. 3.5 seconds! That is light years in terms of racing time.

He clipped the right apex without even touching the kerb and climbed the uphill left edge of the track before straightening the nose and powering off to the left turn 5 and the right turn 6. He was smooth. His straight-line speed was awesome, to say the least. But he braked early every time. And he powered on rather late too as the huge low grunt torque would otherwise unsettle the car causing the tyres to lose grip and consequently, traction. Driving fast on cold tyres is not easy.

He was constantly 2 turn ahead of me until turn 9. A 180 degree left hander going uphill, turn 9 is a hairpin cum chicane. It is the most ridiculous and difficult turn on the Sepang circuit. Nobody like that turn. Not me, for sure! He was powering along the straight after turn 8 and he was going real fast. As I came out of turn 8, he was already at the end of the straight at warped speed. He braked hard for turn 9 and I could see smoke coming out from the front tyres, which meant, he locked his brakes. He lost valuable seconds there. By turn 13, he was only about 5 car length away from my GTR.

Exiting turn 13, the Samurai smelled blood! I floored the loud pedal in 2^nd and powered through the 3^rd and 4^th. Red lining the engine on 4^th, I was doing about 200kph when the last turn of the circuit, turn 14, loomed ahead. The Lambo took to the extreme right, braked ever so early again and dived towards the left apex. I braked slightly late and lunged towards the left apex like a hungry lion. The GTR then drifted out of the apex to the right edge of the track and the front straight beckoned! The Lambo was a mere 2 car length away and I thought, that was it. I was going to nail his big fat ass on the front straight in 3^rd and 4^th gear in front of all the people at the pit wall. It was going to be my glory day. The day I ate a Murcielago for high tea!

The GTR roared out of turn 14 in 2^nd. Upshifting to 3^rd at about 8500rpm, the GTR lurched forward with such potent power that within nano second, my GT intercooler was sucking smoke from the Lambo’s twin tail pipes. The Lambo, sensing it was going to be eaten up, powered its mighty V12, churning out every last drop of its 620bhp, going forward at mind numbing speed while emitting a thunderous roar along the straight. People were running out of the pit towards the pit wall upon hearing the roars of the Lambo and the GTR. IN the 3^rd gear, the GTR was quite literally kissing the bull’s ass. The speedo went from 120 to 150, 160, 170 and 180 before the bright green LCD start blinking. It was time to up shift. I kicked the heavy OS Giken twin plate to the floor and quick shifted from 3^rd to 4^th. The transmission went “KAACHUNK…KAACHUNK”…and well, I could not engage 4^th! OH MY GOD! Of all the time, that was the time Mr Giken decided not to work properly. I felt like jumping out of the GTR! I had to de-clutch, tap the accelerator to maintain high rev and clutched again before trying to up shift another time. This time, it went through. I had lost at least 1.5 seconds and the Lambom was than pulling away to about 2-car length in front of mind. The speedo jumped from 180 to 220 before I upshifted to 5^th and at about 235kph, I was already at the 200 meter mark.

I failed miserably to overtake the Murcielago on the front straight. The Murcielago took turn 1 and I decided to play the mental game. I attacked turn 1 aggresively and moved diagonally towards the left turn 2 with my GTR tailgating the Lambo. He clipped the left apex and drifted out towards the right. In his rush to shake me off his tail, he powered the Lambo on a tad early and the tail wiggled as the rear tyres lost grip. That unsettled the big bull out of turn 2 and he ended up in the middle of the track coming into turn 3. I hugged the inside right line and within a fraction of a second we were side by side leading towards turn 3. This is the time, I thought. This must be it.

I was in 3^rd. And I was at turn 3. And the Lambo was going to have a bad day! I flat out the loud pedal along the sweeping curve of turn 3 with the Lambo beside me on the outside line. Coming out of turn 3 along the short straight towards turn 4, we were doing about 140kph…140…150….180…and we were at the 200 meter mark. The Lambo, as usual, braked. I waited till I approached the 150 meter mark before braking. The Samurai leapt from the ground, somersaulted while unsheathing his sword and with one swift, graceful and yet potent move, pulled it across his opponent’s neck before landing on his feet. The opponent fell on his knees, blood spurting out off his almost severed neck, struggling to breathe, almost conscious that this will be his last moment! The GTR dived towards the right apex, drifted out to the left and by this time the Lambo was snarling behind my 6 inch tail pipe, inhaling the 1 meter flame coming out of it as I upshifted to 3^rd. The Lambo stuck behind the GTR for quite a while till we exited turn 9. I had taken the twin right hander of turn 7 and 8 in 3^rd gear without even braking! By turn 13 it was about 5-car length behind. I powered along the back straight with the Lambo pushing itself to the limit. Turn 14^th was taken with a whole load of drama with the tyres screaming away trying to grip the tarmac. I was thinking that I must maintain enough speed around the corners because the Lambo would try to spank my ass along the front straight with its enormous grunt. The driver must have also sensed that something was not right with my transmission as I failed to overtake him earlier along the straight. Upon exiting turn 14, I floored the pedal and upshifted to 3^rd a little later. I was looking in the rear view mirror.

I was almost at the start-finish line when I finally saw the Lambo out of turn 14. It jumped straight into the pit lane! COWARD! I shouted. My brother was laughing! “Okay…this is our cooling lap” I said. The Lambo had surrendered! I slowed down, wound up the window and switched on the air cond. The GTR swaggered along turn 1 and then turn 2.

We were lazily minding our way along turn 3. Quite instinctively I looked at the rear view mirrow and a gleaming black Diablo was powering its way out of turn 2! Oh my God….

moments of madness...

As I drove downhill towards the junction leading to the main road, I peered through the window at the midnight moon. It was there, in all its bluish white glory. The night was cold. And the cold dense air made the engine smoother with a nice low note grunt emitting from the tail pipe. I was doing about 140kph, easing the tacho to around 3500rpm in 5^th. The car lazily walked itself on the undulating tarmac outside the imposing silhouette of the F1 track. In the rear view mirror, I noticed a pair of searing hot HLDs. “Oh, that must be Kris…” I said to myself. As I neared the traffic light at the t-junction, it went green. It was midnight and the road was bereft of vehicles and so I decided to take the 90 degree right turn like real men should, namely, at about 90kph. I tapped on the brake, slap the heavy double plate clutch to the floor and downshifted to 4^th. As I de-clutched, the tacho jumped to about 5500rpm and the tailpipe exuded a low rumble, which would later change into a rhapsody of high notes screams…hmm…beautiful stuffs! As I de-clutched, I clipped the apex of the turn and my right foot feathered the accelerator until the car straightened itself at the left edge of the main road. Soon after, my right foot floored the accelerator and the car lurched forward to my normal midnight speed. I saw the bright bluish HLDs behind me doing the same. The night was beautiful, almost alluring.

And why not? I was in a beautiful car. The car which arrived at Bathurst sometime in the mid 80s. The car which made the Australians giggled at the thought of it racing with the mighty Ford and Holden V8s. The Japanese must have been mad, right? What was a 2.6 litre inline 6 car doing racing at Bathurst against the mighty 6 litres pushrodded V8s muscle? The car which soon won almost every race at Bathurst that year. The car on which was imposed a weight penalty but yet won almost every single race at Bathurst the following year! The car which was, the year after, banned from racing at Bathurst because of, erm…its ”undue advantage”! The car which is now exhibited at Bathurst Museum. The car which the Australians later, grudgingly loved and, for the lack a better term, called “Godzilla”!

I smiled as I recounted the history of the GTR in my head. Almost instinctively I suddenly turned my head to my right. I could almost saw Kris smiling at me in the dark. Within a second or two, his souped-up 535i breezed past and park it’s big fat ugly arse in front of my nose and pulled away. Bloody hell! I was doing 150kph and he just walked passed me! And he was fast pulling away. The naturally aspirated 3.5 litre inline 6 was not as loud as the GTR but with loads of low end grunt, it shredded the tarmac with its immense torque in whatever gear it was. The wide 6 lane and straight road beckoned…

It was time to have fun. And I was born to have loads of it! The Godzilla was not to be cowed by some German behemoth. I reached for the boost controller and pushed button number 3, which would cause the twin turbines to work at its maximum programmed boost, ie at 1.55 bar of boost. I looked at the speedo and it was about 150kph in 5^th. I slapped the clutch to the floor and quick-shifted to 3^rd. As I de-clutched, the tacho jumped to almost 6000rpm and I could almost felt the GTR’s deadly intent. The loud pedal was floored to the floor pan and with an almost masochistic growl, the car lurched forward fully intent of achieving warp speed in a second or two. In no time the tacho was rapidly climbing to 7200rpm, at which point the whole 603 bhp would be transferred to the rear wheels. At this point of time, the GTR’s electronic, sensing that the rear wheels would skid under the power load, would automatically transfer the power to all 4 wheels in a 4-wheel-drive mode and planted the car on the tarmac without any power wastage. Within seconds, the bright green LED in front of me was beeping, signalling that the rpm was at it’s programmed maximum of 8200rpm. It was time to upshift to 4^th. Up to 4^th it went and I was kissing the 535’s tail pipe. I was so close that the 535i was in real danger of being sucked into my intercooler!

We stayed that way for some distance until the road went uphill near the exit ramp where we would take a left sweeping turn on the ramp and entered the KLIA highway towards KL. That was a nice tricky point, in pure speedster’s book. The wide road would suddenly go uphill and before one reaches the top, one would not be able to see the ramp. In normal layman’s term, that’s a pure stupid and dangerous road design. When one touches the top of the hill, one would notice a downward ramp consisting of a long sweeping corner where an F1 car would normally do 240kph in 5^th gear while the traction control would go into overdrive mode leaving the exhaust to pop and crackle like monsoon thunders. The Beamer’s brake lights came on and it was obvious that Kris was slowing down to downshift in preparation of taking that nice, luscious sweeping left downhill turn. I gave the 6-pot calliper some tight squeeze on the 14 inch rotor and the car slowed down so rapidly that my eyeballs almost came off their socket!

Downshifted to 3^rd, de-clutched and the car roared with the tacho jumping to 5000rpm again. After going to the right of the tarmac, the car plunged itself downhill and I steered to the left while feathering the loud pedal all the way. As I steered to the left, the 4-wheel steering would cause the rear tyres to be steered 1 degree to the opposite direction to put the nose assuredly along the cornering line. The car hugged the inside (left) line all the way until we almost exited the ramp. While the car was hugging the sweeping apex, the inside (left) tyres began to slip. At this point, the limited slip differential sprang into action by taking away some power from the inside tyres and pushed them to the outside (right) tyres to prevent the inside tyres from losing their grip and cause loss of traction. The fat Beamer was still in front with my nose right at its derriere.

We entered the KLIA highway and both cars were deliberately allowed to be pushed by the g-force to the right lane. Just as my car straightened itself and sufficient grip was available, I floored the fun pedal in 3^rd and I knew Kris was doing the same. The huge 3.5 litre powered to the front aided by its humongous low end grunt. The GTR instead took its time to build sufficient momentum before the turbines kicked in and propelled itself to warp speed. In a short straight battle, the GTR would always struggle to keep up with the large capacity Beamer. 3rd went to 4^th. The tacho moved steadily from 5000rpm in 4th to about 7500rpm while the speedo was registering 200kph to 230kph. At this point the Beamer loses its breath and was struggling for air and oxygen. The GTR was just warming up!

Okay. Time for me to smoke the bastard, I thought. Coming from behind in 4^th, I nailed the loud pedal flat out to the floor pan. The growl coming from the 6 inch tail pipe had to be heard to be believed. The twin turbines went into a frenzy. I could hear their impellers moving at unimaginable speed, sucking the air from under the bonnet through the air filters and pushing and cramping 1.55 bar of pressure through the huge GT intercooler into the intake manifold. One second, two seconds and moments later the GTR was beside the 535i and flew past it like it wasn’t there. At about 250kph, I upshifted to 5^th. I looked at the rear view mirror and I could almost saw Kris giving me the middle finger. Hahah…suddenly I thought I saw reflection of a flash on my rear wing, not once, but twice. Oh shit, I had been filmed by the cops, I thought. Hell, it was midnight and the cops were there? My God, what story could I conjure to escape a summons, or even a night at the lock up this time?

Suddenly, my cell phone beeped. Instinctively, I took it up an answered. “Hello…”

“You know what, you had not only smoked me, you had flamed me! Art, I had seen the biggest and brightest tail pipe flames, the mother of exhaust flames from your car! Not once but twice!”, enthused Kris over the phone. And so, it wasn’t flashlights from the police’s cam after all. It was my car puking flames through the exhaust pipe! Phew….

“Eh Kris, you must be mad! We are doing 250kph and you are calling me from your cell phone!”, I remarked!

“Hahaha…”, laughed Kris aloud, “and you are answering this call…!”

WARNING: SMOKES AND FLAMES ARE DANGEROUS TO YOUR HEALTH.DON’T DO THIS AT HOME!