Sniff Petrol

There was good news for dumb, selfish twats yesterday as reports that a regular tanker delivery was going to be ‘slightly late’ led to fuel buying panic at one local petrol station.

The mindless, stupid mithering began around 1pm at the Exachell garage near Wretching, in Disgust, when a member of staff was overheard noting that a fresh shipment of petrol ‘might be around 15 to 20 minutes later than normal’. The news immediately triggered a petrol buying panic amongst customers.

‘As soon as I heard that the main storage tank was down to only 900 litres I knew I had to act,’ said garage regular Dave Spooool. ‘Although I had already filled my car, and actually I only drive about 70 miles a week, I rushed back to the forecourt and filled the boot, glovebox and door pockets with extra fuel. Mind you, I’m so stupid I once forgot how to use my arms’.

Local cretin Angela Stave was another of those caught in the precautionary buying palaver. ‘When I drove onto the forecourt someone told me what was going on and to be honest it scared me. What if there was a medical emergency and I couldn’t get my kiddies to hospital during that vital 20 minute window when my car only had 7/8ths of a tank full? It doesn’t bear thinking about. That’s why I filled my tank with both petrol and diesel, just to be on the safe side’.

Exachell staff say even those who weren’t intending to buy petrol were drawn into the mass panic, such as area fuckwit Irene Mizzz. ‘I had spent the morning frigging myself over the memory of Princess Diana and was on my way to buy a second, uncreased copy of the Daily Express when I noticed a commotion at the petrol station. I immediately realised it was the kind of grunting, thoughtless mass hysteria I enjoy and decided to buy as much petrol as possible. Obviously I don’t actually own a car so I had to go and buy one of those first and by the time I got back the unthinking mob behaviour was over. I was so disappointed I decided to fire bomb the place so I could spend the afternoon moaning about Muslims’.

An Exachell sposkesmans was quick to reassure everyone that the tanker delay was a one off and that people should stop being so Christingly fucking thick.

After cracking down on drivers who use a mobile phone, smoke or eat, the government this week announced that it is considering an even more radical safety move – making it illegal to use a steering wheel.  

‘Our research shows that having to grapple with a large circular device whilst in a fast moving vehicle could be quite literally lethal,’ said Lesbo Bells, spkoksman for the Department of Wasting Everyone’s Time With Unbelievably Patronising Shite. ‘That’s why we’re looking at proposals to make this dangerous pursuit illegal as soon as possible’. 

DoWETWUOS sources say the proposed new ruling will be enforced with a raft of new digital cameras, mounted on top of other cameras which will be used to read people’s Switch cards so that all the money can be drained from their account the instant they are seen doing anything illegal involving a motor vehicle, such as driving it, sitting in it or looking at it with anything but that sort of dismal, lemon sucking face that people on bicycles do.  

‘Banning people from using the steering wheel whilst on the move will significantly reduce accidents and road casualties,’ Mr Bells claimed. ‘Do you have a car?’ he added. ‘Oh good, please give me another £538 for no reason whatsoever’.

The Beijing Motor Show is in China. And if Steve tells you otherwise it’s only because he’s trying to sell you three train tickets to Manchester. Here is an report from there. China, not Manchester.

The Chinese car makers were out in force at Beijing this year as China’s standing in the automotive world grows and many leading players seized the chance to show a wider audience just what they’re capable of. Over at Bong Fung Motor Factor the star attraction was the Mighty Weasel 888F Wandering Leaves, an exciting sports car concept that appeared from some angles to be on fire. BFMF claim that when this car enters production next year it will offer a 47 percent reduction in unexplained deaths. 

Yes, Mr Jim Bamber - motorsport lampooning legend and the other member of the Sniff Petrol / Jim Bamber mutual appreciation society - has sent us a spare cartoon which is too sweary to appear in Autosport. Happily, Sniff Petrol really likes swearing and has not such qualms about running it. Cheers Jim.  

Och aye tha noo muthafukas! Crazy Dave comin’ on strong wit’ tha fierce flava of Red Bull. Full o’ energy like fizzy crack. So we is layin’ it smooth on Espana and Crazy D, he slap it on the 17 spot in qualifay. Nice an’ slow, yea. Bu’ then come tha lightshow and tha D, he be workin’ his moves when ma man Ady Sutil, he gimme the smackdown. No shit. Crazy D, he ain’t beat though, yea he be back like a cat until ma homeboy Da Glock, he slice me down the side. Hot damn. Wha’ppnin’ bloods? Crazy D, this be goin’ on to he like fo’ times this year. Tha’s why Crazy D ain’t Crazy D no more. From now on, he be call CAPTAIN MAGNETIC. Yea. And if anyone would care to disagree with this I will of course be happy to kick three colours of shit out of them.

Listen up reading fans, the world is about to be cursed with another book by the bloke behind this website (and his mate Giles). It’s called My Dad Wished He Had One Of Those and it’s a sort of giddy romp through some of the big, fast, sexy cars your Dad probably couldn’t afford, lavishly illustrated with masses of period photos. And at least two of them have Roger Moore in. My Dad Wished He Had One Of Those is published on 29 May but you can pre-order a copy from Amazon now, just by clicking these words that are a different colour. Ideal for someone who doesn’t wholly object to the idea of giving Sniff Petrol a small amount of money but really does want to make sure it’s as tiny an amount as humanly possible.  

And speaking of giving money, a while back we featured a bloke called Richard who was doing the Scumball Rally in aid of a willing cause, all with the rather less worthy name of Sniff Petrol stuck to his car. Well guess what, he’s ruddy bloody doing it again this year, and all in the name of Barnados, a charity only a cold hearted blaggard wouldn’t want to support. Do some clicking here to make a donation. Or click here to follow the progress of Richard’s Sniff Petrol stickered Golf. Oh yea, and I’m told that there are still places available on the Scumball itself (another clicky here) and that if I mentioned this fact they might foolishly insist that all entries carry some sort of Sniff branding. Which would be amusing. Although only if you find some strange mirth in a massive fleet of shagged cars affixed with a small sticker advertising a shite and now-only-bloody-monthly-you-lazy-twot website. Whatever floats your rusty Golf GTI boat I suppose.

A pulchritudinous sun casts it gentle dawn rays across the badlands of Kettering and grasps but for one fleeting moment the soft curves of metal, enveloping them like a warm, gentle envelope and scampers like a cheeky spider over a chrome effect badge, picking out each letter as if it were a sniper picking off a target from a celestial bell tower. Singularly those letters mean nothing; together they spell out potency and promise: A G I L A.

I grip the Vauxhall badged fob in my feverish palm and deploy the button marked with the distinctive shape of an open padlock. Instantly the driver’s door unlocks with erectile urgency and soon I’m behind the wheel. The motor fires quickly, promptly, immediately and we’re under way. First impressions? Gearchange crisp as a bag of Walker’s cheese & onion crisps, clutch action soft as stepping on the face of a kitten. It feels good. The fluids take a few moments to warm like a watched pot gathering moss and then it’s time to see what she can really do. Run it to the red line, bang through the gearchanges, timed to perfection. In a straight line, a Fiat Panda wouldn’t know which direction it had gone.

Time to test her on the twisties. Turns in well, feels keyed to the road, feedback is like a focus group, firm but fair, the coiled springs soaking up the worst the road can throw at them like a well turned sponge in a bath of gravel. Go in hard, lift off the throttle and the tail steps out, but it’s as controllable as a well trained spaniel on a short lead in a fenced in garden with Barbara Woodhouse watching on. As soon as it gets sideways I gather it up with a well timed dab of oppo and I’m away.

What price driving pleasure to put a smile on your face as if you’ve slept with a coat hangar full of Ecstacy in your mouth? In this case, from £7595. The Vauxhall Agila is a bitch, and I spanked it.

Troy Queef is Executive Associate Editor-at-Large at Dab Of Oppo magazine