So, the GT turbo sold. I took a massive loss on it, but I was stupid and stupid costs money. At least it won't just sit on the shelf and never get used and the sale will cover the cost of its replacement. The guy is putting it on the 2JZ in his Supra. That is going to be a wicked combination so I'm happy for him, the turbo and me. As soon as Full Race can put the invoice together we'll get my S300 SXE 64.5mm turbo on its way over. That should be snappy as all get out on the 2.8.
I went over to the shop to pay for the head work on that head that, that's right, is going in a box and sitting on a shelf like a mythical weapon to be retrieved in case of crisis to free the people from oppression, to vanquish thine enemy, yada yada. They have the block's cylinders honed for my pistons, the piston ring gaps all filed to size and the crank installed. That big sumbitch spins nice in there. Happy.
Yeah, all bolted in. Wait, what, why is it BOLTED in? Remember these?
I know I gave him the main studs and ONLY the main studs. These guys are so disorganized I don't trust them to hold any of my parts that they aren't going to be installing immediately. They are nice guys, but, seriously, I've seen an 8 year old run a lemonade stand with more oversight. So I ask him if it's in for good or just mocked up. He says It's in for good. I ask why he used bolts. He gives me a dumb look. I have gotten to the point of not replying to painfully obvious questions so I give him a Red Foreman, newspaper down "dumbass" look. Hey, whaddayaknow, he gets there all by himself "you gave me head studs," I just swing my head slowly back and forth. He runs over to my parts pile, pulls the ARP box out, reads it, opens it and starts talking about some unrelated shit while he fires up his air ratchet and starts unscrewing the stock main bolts. Fearing I might loop the air hose around his neck and choke him out I walked out.
Dude, please pull your head out of your ass before I drop that GT-R off the lift onto your head. I am paying you to do a job and you are fucking up at every turn. It's no longer that dream I had all those years ago, it's like a bad colonoscopy and you already have the camera up my ass. Focus, motherfucker, go blanka and finish this better than anything you have ever done and give me back my car with no BS. I promise to bite my lip and let you finish poking around in my ass just so I can be done with it. Make sure every bolt was tightened, every task completed and nothing, NOTHING, will fail due to a dumb mistake you made. Hey, if the block leaks, it was cracked. I chose to take that risk, not your fault. An improperly torqued bolt comes loose and grenades my engine, though, and we are going to have a serious problem. I promise I will come by CONSTANTLY and check EVERYTHING you do to "help" you achieve greatness for both our sakes. You can tell your buddy to quit giving me the stinkeye when I do too. If you weren't fucking up all the time I would still have confidence in you. You killed that now here we are. It's my money, it's my car and you are a scatterbrain. I am now an auditor, fine. I think you can do a good job if I look over your shoulder and catch every mistake so that's what I will have to do. I told you to give me my Naprec head back without doing anything else to it for a reason. We will not be working together ever again.