All of you: get in the car. Now. I’m the best driver in the game, and I wasn’t hired to sit around chatting, so let’s roll before this place is swarming with cops. Do me a favor though and don’t open the trunk; it automatically unfurls an Olympic-sized badminton net, and it’s a real pain in the ass to fold it back up.
Yeah, just kinda set the money bags on your knees. I’d tell you to move the gold-plated racquet holder, but it’s welded to the center console. Honestly, there’s not enough legroom for everyone so if you were thinking about double-crossing someone in the crew, now would be the time.
Damn, looks like the cops found us. I’m guessing they either clocked our plate number or they recognized the custom spoiler shaped like the feathers of a shuttlecock. But don’t worry, I’m already losing them. I know every trick in the book: reversing down a blind alley, drifting around turns, playing a quick game of World Badminton Tour on the Nintendo GameCube that’s embedded in the back of the seat cushion—everything you need a getaway driver to do.
Think of me as Jason Statham with a devastating cross-court lob.
Let go of the wheel! I’m not worried about dodging a little gunfire from a rival gang—this baby has got some special modifications that will keep us safe. No, the glass isn’t bulletproof, but there’s a diamond-encrusted birdie in the glovebox that can be lethal with the right overhand serve.
Oh, you just shot them with a gun? Huh, I guess that works. The guys from West Coast Auto might be disappointed to hear we didn’t use all their mods but no big deal.
Before everyone freaks out, let me assure you that those aren’t police sirens; it's just the sunroof scoreboard siren going off because someone hit the “match point” button. Now, I’m a professional so I’m not gonna point fingers, but I think it might have been triggered when you pounded on the ceiling to tell me to “hurry the fuck up.” Just something to think about.
Welp, I spoke too soon. The celebration siren and accompanying Xzibit custom single “Suck My Shuttlecock” actually did lead the cops back to us. But let’s see if they have the balls to follow us over this railroad track with the train coming.
Buckle up, boys! I mean that figuratively, of course, since the seat belts are styled like badminton nets and will in no way protect you from a collision. The whole vehicle is completely uninsurable, actually. I guess I like to live dangerously. I’m not some soft pickleballer, you know?
Fuck yeah, we made it! Those coppers will never catch us now. I think you boys owe me—and the car—an apology. And you’ll have plenty of time to tell me ‘cause we need to pull over for gas. See, this baby only gets 7 miles to the gallon, in no small part to the 2006-era plasma TV and complete home theater system tucked beneath the backseat. It’s basically like driving a Circuit City.
But I figure the police won’t find us unless we draw attention by—damnit, you hit the roof again. Well, before we get arrested, I do have some good news: everyone around us has their phones out so maybe we’ll get on Ridiculousness.