From: Gilbert John Garduno (ggarduno@lanl.gov)

I was driving down the road when I saw her pulled over on the shoulder.
She had nice headlights and smooth fenders. She flashed her taillights so I
stopped and grasped my toolbox. She opened her hood and showed me her
tubes. I wasted no time and undid her fanbelt. I pulled out my dipstick
and she clutched my Slick 50. I asked her to stroke my piston while I
examined
her rear end. I couldn't stand it any longer so I jumped her battery and
dropped her pan. She turned over my engine then she blew my cylinder head.

Right when I thought I was going to get her motor running, a big engine
burst though her doors and I reached for the valve covers. He was a
Cherokee, straight out of impound. He was on independent front suspension
for vehicular homicide. I reached for my greasegun, but he pulled out a
jackknife and held it to my pinion. I feared for my life so I kicked the
big axle right in the lug nuts. His engine seized on the spot and his
warranty expired. It was a closed gasket funeral. "What a greaseball!" she
said as she lit a CV joint. She was a straight six before all this
happened but now she was a real winch. I asked her to be my grill, but she
called me a fuel. She told me she had six cylinders from previous
carriages, so I packed up my trunk and threw on my hubcap. I called her
once but we had a bad transmission. It was 5 gears or so until I saw her
again, she had a ring on her piston and her axle was oversized, so my
temperature remained cool and I retained all my fluids.
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