The piece of shit can't actually traverse Routes 66, 666, or n.
A nail, nay, a screw, lay deep inside the rubber.
Lest ye thinketh this post is très sexy, 'twas only the catalyst for dropping off the wizard jeep, trudging with the SBH back chez Randal, waiting for five lousy minutes for the workingman to herald a fresh, shiny finish at least I got the dishes done, & trudging back, the damn sun out the whole time I hate getting all sweaty & grimy but verily, a necessitie in shewing evasion to both this shambler from beyond the stars
& the interwebs which saveth me from being the 14,346,193rd comment on [insert Issue of the Hour here] because if I can't convince you to spend valuable time listening to Emperor, what chance do I have with anything unimportant?
Go forth & multiply slack.