HOT STUFF
WOW: hide. Baby's temperature control is on the blink. With good reason.
Disclaimer: Guess, what? Don't own her.
xxxxx
I don't need this at my age.
That manticore hunt was a fiasco; the boys didn't know its spit was corrosive.
Well, until they got sprayed and their clothes started to sizzle.
And now I've got their sweaty, butt-naked hides parked on my bench seat as we head back to the bunker.
Seriously, I haven't seen those little asses for over thirty years. It's killing my cooling system.
Who'd have thought a car could blush? My radiator's hissing like Old-goddamned-Faithful.
And … BOOM … thar she blows!
I'm so sorry Dean, but at least I've managed to reach a garage so you can go and …
Oh.
xxxxx
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