So I don't ever do this (much less post about it), but while I was taking out my WRX the other day between sandwich breaks, I ran across a silver Prius. Those of you who live in the bay area know what I'm talking about. I kept seeing him staring at me at the stop light, like he wanted some of this. I guess he heard me as I rolled up to the light, with my sick Boxer rumble.
But anyway, I'll make this short and sweet. He decided to mess with me, turning off his engine and sipping his soy latte like the mother earth he was, even though I'm chillin with my E40 on. I really didn't want to embarrass him in front of who I'm guessing was his hot girlfriend, but he just rubbed me the wrong way with his polo shirt and rugged good looks. So we gunned it at the green light and well... I'll let you finish the rest. After that, he didn't try anything again.
I think I hit 35 before he even let off the brakes, and I just DESTROYED that thing by lengths that would even boggle Bill Nye's mind. It's like it didn't even move. Why did they even put such weak engines in those things? Now I understand that they were made for mileage and efficiency, but what a POS otherwise.
After that, I patted myself on the back. I felt good. Like I was awesome. No, wait...I AM awesome.
[end of spoof. this is a fake story. just poking fun at the OP's link's OP.]