The raptor chronicles!

[Ruger]

Hopeful optimists and dower skeptics alike, prepare your tender souls for the next skull exploding installment of…

THE RAPTOR CHRONICLES!

When last we left our fearless hero, he was fearlessly digesting his own intestinal tract. Yes, it’s medically possible with the appropriate negative inspiration, and our hero had it up the kazoo. Stoically steeling himself against the nearly infinite possibilities, he e-mailed his Ford salesman on the one-month anniversary of placing his order and asked for the status. The young salesman replied almost instantly. (This kid is really, really good!) He said, “I just checked on it, and your Raptor will start being built on the 8th.” Well, by now you know our hero well enough to anticipate his reaction:

“The eighth of WHAT?”

Gadzooks, how could he leave our uncontrollably drooling hero drooling so uncontrollably like that? Has he no heart? Was he raised in a barn by wolves? Did his momma have congress with members of Congress? Ah, but soon came the answer: “The 8th of November. That means it’ll be done by mid-December.”

Wait a minute. Wait just a doggone minute. IT TAKES FIVE WEEKS TO BUILD A TRUCK??? It would be impossible for Ford to turn a profit were that so. So what does it mean, wonders our hero as he dissolves Tums in another cheap beer. Could the young salesman have casually resorted to an imprecise use of the Language and have really meant that the truck will likely be delivered in mid-December? “I dearly hope so,” ponders our hero over his strawberry Tums flavored beer. But hope doesn’t roll across roadless landscape at speed, nor does it feed the soul of an obsessed and feverish Raptorless nutcase.

What will become of our hero’s favorite intestinal tract? Will Ford really start building our hero’s Raptor on (GASP!) a Monday? Will Tums and Suds become the new yuppie whistle-wetter-downer at the corner bar? Stay tuned next week for the next liver crystallizing installment of…

THE RAPTOR CHRONICLES!

© Copyright 2010, The American Society of Gastrointestinal Physicians

 

[Ruger]

Put your feet in the stirrups for another gastrointestinally twisting installment of…

THE RAPTOR CHRONICLES!

In the absence of a for-real truck with wheels and everything, our hero has taken to reading the 2011 F150 Owner’s Manual and the Raptor Supplement thereto. (Both can be found by going to http://www.motorcraftservice.com/vdi...d=&kevin=rules, click on Owner's Guides (left bar), and enter 2011 and F150.) He digested the supplement in one sitting (31 pages), but the owner’s manual took a week (461 pages). He’s learned some interesting things in the process, things that hopefully will enable him to enjoy the full features of the subject of his wet vehicular adolescent dreams more quickly and with a minimum of confusion.

Our non-speedreading hero learned, for example, that the Ford Motor Company is slightly underwhelmed with aftermarket air filters and intakes. On page 406 of the 2011 Ford F150 Owner's Manual you will find this: "Failure to use the correct air filter element may result in severe engine damage. The customer warranty may be void for any damage to the engine if the correct air filter element is not used." Oh boy, if you’re going to listen to E.F. Hutton, then you’d jolly well better listen to Ford’s Legal Department. This is the final nail in the cold air intake coffin, because all CAIs come with aftermarket air filters that might well inspire Ford to void the warranty should such unfortunate circumstances arise.

Thus primed with knowledge, he was nearly enraptured when he received a short e-mail from his salesman that included the VIN for his new ground-pounder. His instant e-mailed response was, “EXCELLENT, JON! I’ll call you tomorrow.” Ah but real life is designed to build character, damn it. A quick check at Untitled Page for the window sticker revealed that the VIN he’d been given was for a black, 5.0L supercrew that wasn’t even a Raptor. (He’d ordered a white, 6.2L supercab SVT Raptor.) So a follow-up message to the salesman: “Oops. Jon, would you mind double-checking that VIN? It appears to be for a black, 5.0L supercrew.” MAALOX can make a fine coffee creamer.

Alternating between cheap beer fortified with Tums and coffee with MAALOX, our hero contemplates the fate of the truck that he hopes that he has ordered. Will he receive the truck of his dreams or the polar opposite thereof? Will his salesman eventually provide him with a VIN that corresponds to the truck he ordered? Will he become a research subject for the American Society of Gastrointestinal Physicians? Stay tuned for the next viscerally challenging installment of…

THE RAPTOR CHRONICLES!

© Copyright 2010, Till Death Do Us Fart, Unlimited

 

[Ruger]

Can it be? Is it time for another emotionally debilitating installment of…

THE RAPTOR CHRONICLES?

You’ve always wondered which came first, the chicken or the egg. (Yes you have, don’t try to lie!) Well, our hero has the answer to the question that has driven philosophers, psychiatrists, and ornithologists mad for centuries. Which came first, the chicken or the egg? The rooster. (It’s a testosterone thing.)

Ah, that was easy! Here’s one that’s a little tougher: Which came first, the idea to visit the George Dickel Distillery in Tullahoma, Tennessee or the need to visit the Ford dealership to check up on his Raptor order in person?

Give up? Our hero hasn’t. He’s going to take delivery of a Ford F150 SVT Raptor if he has to go to Dearborn and steal one. (No, that’s not hyperbole.)

But back to the distillery. Our hero has taken the tour at the Jack Daniel’s distillery several times, so he was expecting the same kind of experience at the George Dickel distillery. After all, both plants make Tennessee whiskey – how different could it be? Lots different, he learned. It turns out that while the folks at Jack Daniel’s are proud of their automated plant, the folks at George Dickel are just as proud that they hand-make their whiskey and that there isn’t a computer in sight. The respective scales of the operations are equally contrasting. The Jack Daniel’s plant has six or eight stills while the George Dickel has two, and both are used on each batch in their lower temperature double-distilling process. The whiskey is filtered at both plants in two-story filtration tanks filled with charcoal made on site. However, the whiskey is filtered warm at Jack Daniel’s and it’s filtered chilled at George Dickel. It takes 3 days for whiskey to filter at Jack Daniel’s and three weeks to filter at George Dickel. Finally, no other distillery in the world has access to George Dickel’s proprietary yeast. The culmination of these things, according to the label on a bottle of George Dickel No. 12, is that “there’s no smoother sippin’ whisky than Dickel in all of Tennessee or anywhere else.”

That’s quite a claim. Being fond of a good, cheap experiment, our hero returned home and he and his very agreeable wife put the claim to the test. With five (5!) bottles of hard liquor on the table, a marathon taste testing session commenced. While Dickel No. 12 (the “Superior Brand”) and Dickel No. 8 were equally smooth and flavorful and very difficult to tell apart, the other liquors on the table were clearly inferior. One, a Canadian whisky, was nearly tasteless. Another, a Scotch, was raw and bitter. The fifth was a rum, and it was equally agreeable for sipping as the Dickel whiskeys but much sweeter. This is good information to know when you’re beyond obsessed over the truck of your wildest dreams!

On the way to the distillery, our hero and his wife stopped to chat with the nice, young salesman at the Ford dealership. Proudly sporting his digital camouflage Ford oval hat, he learned that the salesman and the sales manager have pushed his order forward in the queue at Dearborn. In fact, they’ve been on the phone with the production boys and assured our drooling hero that his truck will be among the first to roll off the end of the assembly line. This, as you might well guess, made the whisky taste testing all the more sublime. A very satisfying day.

But still no truck! Will our hero dry out enough to take sober delivery of his Raptor? Is there any gratification in knowing that Darwin was right, and that our hero has evolved from drinking cheap beer to drinking expensive Tennessee whisky as he awaits the truck of his nasty vehicular dreams? Will this series of voluptuously self-indulgent essays ever end? You will never know! Unless, of course, you stay tuned for the next staggeringly potted installment of…

THE RAPTOR CHRONICLES!

© Copyright 2010, Female Progenitors in Opposition to Inebriated Vehicular Operation

 

[Ruger]

Aye me hearties, the time has come for another tale of high adventure:

THE RAPTOR CHRONICLES!

An eternity has passed. Minutes have morphed into eons in the mind of our stoic and stalwart future raptor owner. The cheap beer no long suffices. The Tennessee whiskey no longer consoles. Not even sex could divert his attention. A bloody solar flare pales in comparison to that one burning question that so fully occupies what remains of our hero’s mind:

Where the hell is my Raptor, damn it?

Yes, our hero no longer contemplates why the Creator created parasites. He no longer wonders at the origin of Saturn’s rings, no longer ponders the outcome of the expansion of the universe or the movement of tectonic plates. His world has narrowed to that one consuming question. He must know. He must KNOW! The sympathetic salesman provided him with a VIN a couple weeks prior, but so far there isn’t a window sticker available. So he finally obtains the phone number of Ford SVT (1-800-367-3788) and ******** on his courage he calls (we don’t say “dials” any more, do we?) to inquire about his non-existent Raptor.

It is now appropriate to discuss the value of truth. You can use facts. You can process information. That’s brain stuff, but truth goes to the soul. The facts are that our hero’s Raptor was originally scheduled to be built the week of January 3rd. Further refinement of the production schedule provides the information that as of December 3rd, the specific build date is January 3rd. The truth is that our hero can quit sweating this – it’ll be at least two months until delivery.

What a relief. What bliss! What ecstasy! What, another cheap beer? Well, we have to celebrate somehow, now don’t we? Our happily inebriated hero has not found nirvana, but he can see it from here. Accessories dance in his head. Braided steel brake lines waltz with pre-runner bars. Intake modifications tango with stubby radio antennas. There’s a hokey-pokey involving halogen headlight bulbs, fog lights, and back-up lights. What will he do? What will he do???

Stay tuned for the next exquisitely adventurous installment of…

THE RAPTOR CHRONICLES!

© Copyright 2010, Pirates of the Production Schedule

 

[Ruger]

Oh no! Not another kidney scrubbing installment of…

THE RAPTOR CHRONICLES!

Eighty-three days have come and gone since our eternally impatient uber-hero placed an order for an Oxford White 2011 Ford F150 SVT Raptor with Raptor Plus Package and Tailgate Step. The number of cases of cheap beer consumed is uncountable, but our hero is hero indeed with the local aluminum recyclers. Several bottles of George Dickel Tennessee Whisky (both 80 proof and 90 proof) have been consumed. He has got the cleanest urinary tract in the northern half of the state.

And what does he find on his computer this fine, sunny Sunday morning but the window sticker for the truck that has haunted his nightmares (not to mention his daymares) lo these interminably long two and a half months.

Heaven! Nirvana! Paradise! And celebratory alcohol! What, you don’t believe there’s alcohol in heaven? Nonsense! At the last supper Jesus Himself promised that He would not drink wine again until He could drink with his disciples in Heaven. But do they have George Dickel there? Well, we’ll see what kind of taste they have in Heaven in due course.

In the mean time, our intrepid hero has in his fevered hands a piece of paper that proves beyond any doubt that the Ford Motor Company is going to build his SVT Raptor. And that is worth celebrating indeed.

But now the question is delivery. The truck will be born on January 3rd. (That’s a something of a concern. New Years is a whole holiday weekend this year. It may be that the Raptor will be built by inebriated Ford assembly line workers. At least they’ll be happy workers, and our hero hopes that this carries the day.) But when will it be delivered? When indeed? When, oh when?

Will our hero be able to wait out the assembly and delivery process? Will he win the National Cleanest Kidneys Contest? Will his white Raptor love him as much as he loves it? The answers to those burning questions in the next kidney stone pulverizing installment of…

THE RAPTOR CHRONICLES!

© Copyright 2010, www.kidneystonejewelry.com

 

[Ruger]

…and you’ll have the cleanest toilet bowl in your neighborhood.”

And now, boys, girls, and off-road freaks of all ages, this week’s budget shredding installment of…

THE RAPTOR CHRONICLES!

It’s not the cheap beer. It’s not the fine Tennessee whisky. It’s Raptoritis, boys and girls, and it’s a nasty case indeed. No doctor could diagnose it successfully, and of course it cannot be treated. Well, not in the absence of a for real, in-the-driveway Raptor.

What to do? What to do? “I know,” says our Raptor-expectant hero, “I’ll spend money!”

Trying to be modest and somewhat fiscally responsible during the Christmas season, our hero, twitching and drooling in psychopathic expectation of the arrival of the as yet non-existent truck that keeps him up at night, has purchased or ordered the following:

- A pair of Blazer Ultra White crystal rod lens fog lamps, P/N UW3534. ($29.95 from Auto Zone) As the instructions cautioned about touching the housing during operation because the lamps generate so much heat, the housings have been modified with heat dissipaters from Radio Shack.
- A K&N drop-in air filter, P/N 33-2385. ($44.99 including shipping from Performance 4 Trucks)
- A pair of Recon Diamond White 4,600 Kelvin xenon headlight bulbs, P/N 264H13DW. $34.95 from Recon)
- An N-Fab Rear Runner bumper guard, P/N FF09RR. ($278.99 from Performance 4 Trucks – free shipping) Our hero can’t stomach the thought of some goober rear-ending his truck while talking on the cell phone, so some rear armor was always in the plan. Pre-Runner bars will be ordered if the truck will fit in the garage with bars on both ends.

Our hero believes he has identified a significant design flaw on the Raptors. He has confirmed that the air filter for the 5.4L is the same as that for the 6.2L, and that the airbox snorkel that sucks intake air from the inner fender is the same as that for the 3.6L V6. With the help of WIZ1500, a senior member on Raptor ******, he has confirmed that the diameter of the plastic inlet coming from the throttle body has an interior diameter of 92mm (3.62 inches) and the outlet to the airbox is only 82mm (3.23 inches). This represents a 20 percent restriction for a big engine that’s already breathing through an airbox that’s designed for much smaller engines. That this will have an effect on throttle response and fuel economy is certain in his mind, and he has identified a means to remedy the situation without resorting to a $450+ cold air intake that may void the truck’s warranty. The cleverly modular intake components available from Spectre Performance - Official Site may be just the thing to open up the intake and let the big 6.2L breathe properly.

Will he ever be able to sleep until his Raptor finally appears? Will 3D schematics of intake parts dance in his head until he’s certifiably mad? Will his checkbook balance recover enough to actually buy the Raptor? These and other equally spasmodic questions may (or may not be) answered in the next inescapably exciting episode of…

THE RAPTOR CHRONICLES!

© Copyright 2010, Fluid Dynamics-R-Us

 

[Ruger]

Children may scream. Beautiful women may faint. Strong men may quiver in fear. But here’s another moderately frightening installment of…

THE RAPTOR CHRONICLES!

“It’s alive! It’s alive!” screamed the crazy-haired and goggle-eyed mad scientist. The creation of his wildest dreams had become reality at last, and there was nothing for it but mad, gleeful, triumphant exultation.

Well, okay, it’s built, it’s built! But the crazy hair, goggle eyes, and mad, gleeful and triumphant exultation are really quite appropriate here. And far be it from our nusto hero to be anything but, um, appropriate.

A call to SVT fixed the truck of our hero’s wildest dreams in history. It is now incontrovertibly more than a concept, more than a few photos and on-line reviews, more than a VIN. It’s a truck. A real, ground pounding, fire breathing, awe inspiring truck. More than sufficient to frighten the weak and timid into catatonic torpor. More than sufficient to raise huge clouds of dust. From a concrete Interstate. More than sufficient, even, to inspire the celebratory consumption of a cheap beer. Or two.

“Awaiting transport,” the SVT man said.

“Is that celestial music I hear?” our hero replied.

Yes, it is! It’s the sound of a high performance V8 rumbling in that magic place where good things happen to those who will but wait.

It’s alive! It’s alive!

And our hero feels fine.

Will there be another adrenaline inspiring installment of THE RAPTOR CHRONICLES? You bet your shiny little behind there will! Stay tuned and all that.

© Copyright 2011, Living Octane Unlimited

 

[Ruger]

Oh my god! What is it? No, don’t tell me! Yes, testosterone fans, it’s another installment of…

THE RAPTOR CHRONICLES!

Mother Nature dumped prodigious snow all over the place to prevent it. It was the biggest snowfall event in 50 years. But the old bat couldn’t stop the delivery of our hero’s much anticipated Raptor. Mother Nature evidently doesn’t understand testosterone.

Our hero is of the stoic persuasion, and has devoted the major part of his unexpectedly long life to the study of testosterone. It wasn’t hard – he manufactures the stuff. (Think of it!) It’s apparently politically incorrect to say, thus it must be empirically correct to observe, that testosterone is the most powerful chemical on earth. Does oil start bar fights? Does Windex precipitate border conflicts? In fact when subjected to brazenly honest analysis, testosterone is responsible for more wars, armed insurrections, bar fights, rapes, murders, heroic deeds, acts of outrageous selflessness, ivy festooned buildings climbed to reach the object of affection, and “Hey y’all, watch this” incidents than all other chemicals combined.

Rubbish, you say? History teaches otherwise, councils our hero. The Goths didn’t sack Rome because they were in search of a better hair tonic. King Leonidas and his 300 Spartans didn’t give their lives to delay the Persian hordes because they were inexplicably fond of the sulfur in the nearby hot springs. The 101st Airborne didn’t hold Bastogne because they thought Belgian cuisine was worth dying for. (Nobody thinks Belgian food is worth dying for, not even the Belgians!) It has ever been thus.

So Ma Nature, old bitty that she is, couldn’t stop, hinder, or even delay the delivery of our fearless hero’s Ford Raptor. The why should be obvious. Even our up until now Raptorless hero has it figured out: RAPTORS RUN ON TESTOSTERONE! The design, the purpose, the sound, the power, and the sheer size of the beast renders the question moot. Scott Burgess of The Detroit News had it right in his January 2010 review of the Ford Raptor. He said, “You don’t take this truck to work, you take it to war.” Amen, brother.

In less than 24 hours testosterone meets testosterone when our soon to be Raptorified hero takes delivery of the truck of his now suddenly matured dreams. Nothing could be finer. “Nothing,” asserts our hero.

Can testosterone reach critical mass and blow a nasty, oozing hole in the universe? Will our hero be stoic enough to drive the beast home? Will he witness another 7 color rainbow on the way?

Adjust your frequency modulators for the next ***** enhancing installment of…

THE RAPTOR CHRONICLES!

© Copyright 2011, Exterior ****** Are Cool, Inc.

 

[Ruger]

And now, true believers, another testosterone boiling installment of…

THE RAPTOR CHRONICLES!

Our hero has been busy. All kinds of new bits and parts have been installed on the new white Raptor in the garage:
- RECON Diamond White headlight bulbs
- Sylvania Silverstar backup bulbs
- Blazer Crystal Rod Lense fog lights
- A 17 inch radio antenna
- Line-X bed liner in the truck’s bed and rear wheel wells
- AquaPel windshield treatment
And there’s a N-Fab Tail Runner rear bumper guard on the way.

But the real story here is our hero’s glorious plans to modify the factory intake. Alas, those plans will not come to full fruition. He was on the verge, credit card in hand, of ordering the parts he needed last night and then a flash of unaccountably lucid insight assaulted his otherwise placid brain. “I wonder if it’ll work,” he thought. “Maybe I oughta look.” (duh?)

Out to the garage he went, and before he knew it he had intake parts all over t he garage floor. Carefully measuring with precision calipers, he discovered that the intake snorkel that sucks air from the inner fender is not the restriction he thought it to be. It is, in fact, a larger diameter than that of the hose that runs from the airbox to the throttle body. (Said hose is larger in diameter at the throttle body, but necks down at the air flow sensor.) Unwilling to replace the hose and upset the air/fuel mixture programming, he thought he might replace the snorkel anyway. A 4 inch diameter solution would be necessary, because the snorkel’s interior diameter is well over 3 inches. No joy, there simply isn’t sufficient surface area to mount a flange for a 4 inch diameter hose on the side of the airbox.

What to do, what to do? Examination of the snorkel revealed that it has some rather peculiar interior contours, few of which are conducive of smooth air flow. “Well,” said our creative hero to his jolly self, “I know what to do about that!” No home mechanic should be without a moto-tool. (AKA: Dremel) A little grinding with a sanding drum with the moto tool, a little smoothing with some sandpaper, and some quick polishing with 0000 steel wool resulted in some modest improvements to the interior of the snorkel. One thing led to another, and pretty soon our hero had radiused every piece of intake gear on the truck and it was midnight. He dropped in the K&N filter he had purchased long before taking delivery of the truck and called it a night.

Results? Oh, they’ll be quite modest and they are as yet unmeasured. Half of a mile per gallon, maybe, in normal driving? But the more throttle and the more air flow through the system, the greater the effect his modest modifications are likely to have. It’s not a turbo and it’s not a blower, but it doesn’t void the warranty or break the bank. It’ll have to do, ‘cause there ain’t much left in the bank! But what next? When the new bumper guard arrives, our hero will be out in the garage lying on a cold concrete floor testosterone aplenty, wrench in one hand, beer in the other, grinning like madman.

God bless America. And God bless THE RAPTOR CHRONICLES!

© Copyright 2011, Testosterone Fueled Raptors Are The Bomb.org

 

[Raptizzle]

Utterly speechless