Audi Donuts
Phun with Photoshop Corporate letters Bear Notch Road Emails from Heck

 

"Okay, okay, stop trying. We're not going anywhere. Let me go out and see what the problem is."
I got out and checked the rear of the car. The rear driver's side wheel was suspended 6" off the ground, held in the air by a 12" hunk of granite. Even quattro wasn't going to get us down off of that.
"Dude, you might want to get out and take a look at this."
"Can you try giving it a push?"
"Ummm... just get out here and take a look."
"What is it? OH FUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUU......."

This is not how you want a donut session to end.

Oh yeah, we made some mistakes. A nice little grocery list of them, in fact. Start with quattro, add traction control, pour in an unfamiliar driver and choose a parking lot 1/4 mile from a police station. Must we mention being old farts who really should know better? 
Oh yeah, and there's the beer, too.
Now before you get the wrong idea, we were not drunk, either legally or physically. It's just that if you're setting yourself up for a confrontation with the gendarmes, beer breath does not make for a happy icebreaker. You might as well just say "Hey officer, could ya hold my syringe while I light this? Got any naked pictures of your wife?"
Besides running the Audi aground on the rock, the biggest mistake we made was to go back. Number two in the Marquis of Spinsilly Rules of Donut Etiquette is that you do your circles then skeedaddle. No matter how unsatisfactory the donuts were you simply do not return to the scene. And therein lay our downfall.
He tried hard, so very hard. That rear end would simple not step out and the front end was unwilling to slide, too. So all we did was increasingly fast circles. Since we were in a residential neighborhood, I called 'time' after five minutes of skid pad exercises. That was when the bad things happened. Halfway up the driveway, my compatriot decided that we should have tried them backwards.
"No, it's time to go." I told him.
"Just a couple more."
"No, seriously, we should go. Trust me."

It was too late. He was already backing down. This was when he broke rule number 4: always make note of the hazards in the area, especially the large chunk of granite sitting on the corner. He hit it going about 7-10 mph. The rock caught on the muffler, turned on edge, and raised the rear of the car before it came to settle under the lower A-arms of the rear suspension. The jack would barely reach the jacking point, let alone lift the car off the block. Seriously stuck indeed. Rule number 3: For heaven's sake, don't get your dumb ass stuck.

So there my buddy was, outraged and screaming epithets to the gods in a quiet seaside neighborhood. "WHAT THE F******* ARE WE GONNA DO? S*****! F******! F*********************!" 
I looked over, he was now pissing on a fence screaming obscenities. The neighbors lights came on, the dogs started barking and I could see movement. I was getting that queasy 'here we go again' feeling. It was time to make a plan and put it in action
"Schmedley*, we will take care of this but you have to shut up and listen carefully. Lock your car and start walking with me."
"Where we going?"
"My house."
"But this isn't the fastest way."
"No, it isn't. But it doesn't take us right in front of the police station either and the more distance we can get between us and this scene, the better. Remember, if a question goes unasked, we don't have to provide an answer."
"You've done this before?"
"You don't even want to know."

As we walked I told him that he would leave his car there tonight. He protested. As it was my high lift jack, I gave him no choice. I told him that being awake at 6:30 the next morning would be in his best interest. Again with the protests. 
"Right now you are pissed. You're upset that you put your car on a rock causing untold damage and now you're going to be leaving it overnight. You should be pissed; it's your job. My job is to get us out of this in good grace. Come the morning you'll understand." (Yeah, I really do talk like this. Actually it came out more like "STFU, you got us into this, I'm gonna get us out. Shut up and trust me.")

6:20AM Coffee in hand, I recon the Audi. No tickets. No notes. No prob. Quick scan under the car shows next to no damage. Things are looking up.
6:30 I wake Schmedley and brief him on the plan if the police show up. Tell them the truth. We were doing donuts and hit this rock. We weren't drunk, just juvenile. Luckily, we were on private property so in all likelihood the police wouldn't do anything anyway.
6:45 Car is jacked. Rock removed. Damage: purely cosmetic. Muffler dented and paint scraped on the lower a-arms. Schmedley's attitude is adjusted heavily towards positive, aside from being up so early and having to offer a quick explanation to his wife why I was there to pick him up. Poor bastard. It's decided that we take my car next time. (Incredibly nebulous OBMWC)

In looking back on all this, so many of the rules proper donut etiquette were broken that it was no wonder it went so sour. Fortunately, the donut prime directive was not transcended. I only did that once, with predictably dire results. Rule number one succinctly states: "If, on a snowy evening, someone and their brother offers to show off their new full sized Cadillac to you, do not check out how large the trunk is, no matter how convincingly they argue that it's really cool to see how far in it extends. Especially if you're claustrophobic." Trust me. Schmedley does. Now.

Porridgehead

*Schmedley's not his real name, but you knew that.