He had made a Land Rover out of Crack, and

He had made a Land Rover out of Crack, and had decided to drive across the country in it and

sell it gram by gram. By the time he sold three wheels, the windshield, and a muffler, he'd made enough money to buy a non-Crack Land Rover. But he was tempted by the exhaust pipe.

on the tailpipe, imbibing and divulging in the fumes of life; meanwhile, the driver of the next car over looked on him aghast. He couldn't care less; his secret was out, but

be damned if he would quit sucking up this sweet nectar; then the defective catalytic converter belched and fire came shooting out of the tail pipe burning his lips scorching his

esophagus, but he was used to it. After years as a fire breather, he'd acquired a taste for monoxide, NOx & aldehydes. He could taste a coolant leak. Probably worn gaskets. His job

had become utterly boring and predictable. He dreamed about change, about heroism. Saving the world, flying at supersonic speeds and using stuff called Kryptonite. Damsels in distr

ibution centers being terrorized by hacked packaging robots, whom he could rescue with a hefty wrench and custom superglue paintballs -- yeah! life held some promise again, until

he remembered his paintball gun was broken & his wrench was missing & he found he didn't have any superglue left. Saving the UPS from hacked packaging robots was out of his league.

Sadly all he had left was a glittery barrette & some cherry chapstick, and he was saving that for later, so he sat there & watched the destruction. So much for what brown could do.