Originally Posted by san rensho (Post 316291)

THE RABY
(with apologies to both Jake Raby and Edgar Allen Poe)


Once upon a midnight dreary, while I pondered weak and weary over many a quaint and curious volume of forgotten 986 lore.
As I nodded, nearly napping, suddenly there came a rapping, as of something gently tapping, rapping, from behind my driver's door.
Tis just valve noise, I muttered, just a sticky, tiicky valve lifter, tapping from behing my driver's door.
This it is and nothing more.

Ah, distinctly I remember, it was in the bleak December, and each dying ember wrought its ghost upon the floor.
Eagerly I wished the morrow, vainly I had sought to borrow from my books by Bentley,
encouragement that my intermediate shaft bearing, that that rare and radiant bearing, was not about to be, no more.

And the silken sad uncertain rustling of each purple curtain
thrilled me, filled me with fantastic terrors never felt before, so that now, to still the beating of my heart I stood repeating
Tis just valve noise from a sticky lifter,
Just some valve noise from a sticky lifter,
Only this and nothing more.

Back into my chamber turning, all my soul within me burning, Soon again I heard a tapping somewhat louder than before.
Surely, said I, surely that is something at my window lattice
Let me see that, what thereat is, and this mystery explore
Let my heart be still a moment and this mystery explore
Tis the wind and nothing more.

Open here I flung the shutter, when, with many a flirt and flutter,
in there stepped a stately RABY of the saintly days of yore.
Not the least obeisance made he, not a minute stopped or stayed he,
But, with mein of Lord or Lady, perched above my chamber door,
Perched upon a bust of Porsche just above my chamber door, perched, and sat and nothing more.


Then this ebony bird beguiling my sad fancy into smiling, by the grave and stern decorum of the countenance it wore,
"Tell this soul full of fear and dread, that the tapping of the motor is not the failing IMS bearing that I dread,
that my engine is not dead, that the sound is not the IMS death rattle, but just a valve and nothing more.
Quoth the Raby, 'Nevermore.'

"Be that word our sign of parting, bird or fiend!' I shrieked up starting
"Get thee back into the tempest and the nights Plutonian shore
Leave no black plume as a token of that lie thy soul has spoken
Leave my loneliness unbroken ! quit the bust above my door!
Take thy beak from out my heart and take that form from off my door
Quoth the Raby, Nevermore.

And the Raby, never flitting, still is sitting, still is sitting
On the pallid bust of Porsche just above my chamber door
And his eyes have all the seeming of a demons that is dreaming
And the lamp light o'er him streaming throws his shadow on the floor
And my soul from out the shadow that lies floating on the floor
Shall be lifted, Nevermore!

Originally Posted by Jager (Post 316607)

For my brothers in northern lands, oh how I remember,
Hide their Boxsters during winter, on this first day December…




Winter hath my nine-eight-six absence sheen,
Freezing leather felt, what dark days seen;

For thee, remembrance of the past driving year,
December, Boxster bareness now everywhere;

Yet this time removed it will be spring time,
Bearing the Porsche badge, Boxster at its prime;

Today the paint pale, dread the winter’s near,
Tuned exhaust notes that sang, 'tis now with dull cheer;

Thou Boxster away, thy exhaust echoes mute,
Longing for warmth, beaches, women in swim suit;

Yet abundant cold and scarce driving seems to me,
Occasion for Porsche dreams, mods, until new driving pleasures return to thee.

Originally Posted by Kenny Boxster (Post 287605)

A haiku about my boxster:


Car drives fine,
Must Upgrade vehicle,
Empty Wallet.

Originally Posted by Johnny Danger (Post 321835)

Like sands through the hourglass... so are the oil changes of our boxsters.

Originally Posted by san rensho (Post 321973)

Jäger, is this an adaptation of a Shakespeare sonnet?

Originally Posted by Jager (Post 332003)

The precious two, inlet air and purging fire,
The first my throttle, the other my desire;

Both are with thee, wherever I drive,
Always growling, especially turn five;

For when these are gone,
Life stops, I feel very alone;

Then next race day, all recurred,
Back again, happiness assured;

By swift Boxster they return'd to thee,
Blowing air and blazing flames, recounting into me;

With these thoughts, driving makes me glad,
But without air or fire, I would be very, very, sad.

Originally Posted by Jager (Post 332426)

How can I survive the IMS plight?
When a failure can happen, day or night;

Why be debarr'd of a good night’s rest?
Worrying about failure, my thoughts always oppress'd;

Each bearing, OEM or aftermarket reign,
One fails by toil, the other extreme price pain;

Constant thoughts torture me,
How far will IMS bearing labor for thee?

I say myself to keep thoughts bright,
Flatter thy nine-eight-six, day and night;

But doth this make the IMS bearing last longer?
No! Racing thy Boxster every day and night makes the IMS bearing stronger!

Originally Posted by Johnny Danger (Post 332466)

How doth one find the words ?

Originally Posted by Jager (Post 340515)

Any forum members experienced driving the freeways of LA? Then you understand what traffic can be like, on this first day of May.



How bored am I when traffic’s in my way?
To test my patience, in one lane I stay;

Every semi-truck in my mirrors appear to thrust,
Bumper-to-bumper, do motorcycles I trust?

In thy Boxster, where my joys are,
Sitting in traffic I realize it’s not just a car;

I think of delightful Nine-Eight-Six things,
A magnificent machine, that uses IMS bearings;

Most worthy of comfort, Nine-Eight-Six never gives me grief,
Should I keep the doors locked for an unsuspecting thief?

The frunk is like a hidden Pirate’s chest,
Within thy enclosure I can hide my best;

The trunk is small but provides plenty room,
Often while cleaning I neglect to vacuum;

Suddenly, a cabriolet appears to the left of me,
Two brunettes showing me their bare breasts and belly!

I think to thyself, tis it me or thy Boxster?
Or maybe¸ just maybe, these babes think I’m a Movie Star?

I have to focus, darn it, traffic starts to move,
I stare to my left knowing my wife would not approve;

Making good time thou was not, but suddenly I feel thou art,
Rolling, where Porsche pleasures come, but now loveliness part;

Traffic is moving, darn it, a lovely moment gone I fear,
Bored no more, there are beautiful breasts fading in my rear view mirror.

Originally Posted by EssexPorsche (Post 340615)

I wandered lonely as a cloud
O'er vales and hills, the howl of flat six
When all at once I saw a crowd,
Gathered round, a yellow 986;
Beside the lake, beneath the trees,
Set my heart a flutter on the breeze.

Continuous as the stars that shine
And twinkle on the milky way,
They stretched in never-ending line
Tracing my track around the bay:
260 horses saw I at a glance,
Tossing their heads in sprightly dance.


An Ode to JD & a car i never get tired of looking at!

Originally Posted by steved0x (Post 340645)

I once bought a box from PA;
I flew to it that very day.
When I got there alas,
It was all out of gas,
So I only could drive a short way.

When I got there I drove it all night,
The experience was such a delight.
But the first thing I see,
When I enter NC,
Is the glow of the check engine light.

But luckily all ended well,
As the folks on this forum did tell,
With some luck and some smarts,
And some Pelican parts,
Bid adieu to the dang CEL.

Originally Posted by Coffinhunter (Post 340667)

There is a place where my sidewalk ends
And before my 986 journey begins,
And there the engine purrs soft and light
And there the sun burns crimson bright,
And there the top is down preparing for flight
Too cool in the Florida wind.

Let us leave this place where winters are white
and the Boxters hibernate till seasons end
Past the pits where the asphalt is covered in snow
J.D shall walk with a walk that is measured and slow,
And watch where year round Bosters get up and go
To the place where my sidewalk ends.

Yes J.D. will walk with a walk that is measured and slow,
And Jager will go where year round Boxsters flow
For the Porsche's, they mark, and the Porsche's, they know
The place where my sidewalk ends.

Originally Posted by Coffinhunter (Post 340667)

There is a place where my sidewalk ends
And before my 986 journey begins,
And there the engine purrs soft and light
And there the sun burns crimson bright,
And there the top is down preparing for flight
Too cool in the Florida wind.

Let us leave this place where winters are white
and the Boxters hibernate till seasons end
Past the pits where the asphalt is covered in snow
J.D shall walk with a walk that is measured and slow,
And watch where year round Bosters get up and go
To the place where my sidewalk ends.

Yes J.D. will walk with a walk that is measured and slow,
And Jager will go where year round Boxsters flow
For the Porsche's, they mark, and the Porsche's, they know
The place where my sidewalk ends.