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.
  • *Ohhh*, that lucious exhaust pipe. Just pumping out delicious crack smoke. Before he knew it his lips were wrapped around the tailpipe and he was gone. His evil cracktwin was loose
  • 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.


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