A Trevor is what I call a boy racer. A spotty youth in a souped up car that drives around in a low gear with the souped up stereo on 11. Basically a nuisance to society. Anyway, about five minutes ago a gang of Trevors decided to use my leafy suburban street as their race track and my driveway as a convenient spot to turn around.
Here's a typical Trevor car
I know there's some of you out that that may label me a Trevor wannabe, but I deny all claims and my name's not Trevor. I'd best go, I've got to be in Maccie D's car park by 10 for a burnout.