The car skidded along the highway as he snatched the bottle from his bro and took a swig from the bottle of Jack Daniel's, a sour look on his face. Why would his father insist on never buying a real drink like Dalmore 62 Single Highland Malt Scotch? It was only a mere $58,000, for fuck's sake!

Well, whatever. He was hammered, high as shit and cruising down the highway in his Lamborghini convertible, somehow three times above the safe limit of blood alcohol, just above the speed limit and not out of complete control.

'Hey, watch it, pal!' one man in a Sedan screamed as they swerved in front of him. 'Shit... I've got to get to LA in two hours or I'm fired!'

Unfortunately for the other driver, the rich idiots who didn't need a day job had heard him. Grabbing an empty caviar jar one hurled the glass object out of the side window and shattered the poor man's windshield. He cursed in anger as he was forced to hit the breaks, swearing his revenge. Unfortunately, the twits were just smart enough to have removed the license plates from their car before engaging in their foolish and reckless actions.

'I am sick to death of POOR PEOPLE!' one of them slurred, leaning out of the window just before trying an acrobatic stunt of leaning as far out as possible.

'Truck!' the driver yelled in excitement. 'Some little worm probably delivering for Wal-Mart.'

'Bro!' one of the two in the back said in an offended manner. 'My family owns Wal-Mart.'

They had become quiet, a sort of guilt coming over them. He snatched the bottle from them, taking a swig of it.

'Which means I get to throw the bottle,' he said in a delighted manner before they all burst into an uproar of laughter. 'Lower the hood!'

'LOWER THE HOOD!' the others shouted in unison.

The car sped forward as the bonnet folded away, getting right in front of the truck, hitting the brakes to disorientate the driver who honked his horn in anger.

'Fuck your horn!' the idiot yelled before throwing the bottle backwards over his shoulder, striking the windshield head on and causing the truck to skid out of control. They sped away, cheering themselves on and flipping the bird backward while roaring in triumph.

They didn't even notice the tracker being shot into their bumper.

'I can't believe someone shot my car,' the driver said, holding a driver and driving the golf ball onto the green of the 17th hole, pumping his fist in triumph at scoring an Eagle. 'Did you notice anyone with a gun?'

'No, man,' his buddy said as he took a hit of the bong while driving the buggy to the hole. 'Maybe it was someone we spooked on the road. My bet would be whatever redneck was in that truck... You speak to Jared or Thomas?'

'Freddie, they're sleeping in the villa,' the car's driver reminded him before getting off and taking the ball from the hole. 'Fucking lightweights, man.'

'Gotta love 'em, right Brent?' Freddie asked. 'Someone for the big boys to show up.'

'And to guide, my brother,' Brent said as they fist bumped.

They pulled up to the start of course 18, flipping a coin for the honors of being the first to tee off. Freddie stood aside as he lost the toss, letting Brent put his ball on the small plastic spike before preparing the swing.

'Hole in one, I guarantee it,' he said as he prepared to swing.

'Well, you'll need it since you're three above me,' Freddie said just after the ball went flying. And to his amazement, he saw the small white ball roll into the ball. 'Holy fuck.'

'I told you, bro!' he said triumphantly before high-fiving his bud. 'A special thanks to a Mr Trump for the easiest Hole 18 in the whole of the East Coast. Come on, let's hurry up so we can join my dad for lunch.'

Freddie walked towards centre-stage, putting his own ball down and ready to hit the ball forward.

The sight of a metallic heap bouncing and destroying the green was completely unnoticed to Freddie as he prepared his swing until he had been ready for his swing, sending the ball forward and almost into the wreckage... and dropping it into the 18th hole.

'Bro,' he said when he finally caught on. 'Is that your Lambo?'

Brent's jaw was on the ground, staring at the wreckage on the green. 'What the fuck?!' he cried as he looked into the valeted car park beside the golf club.

Standing at a whopping 28 feet tall and holding an axe over his shoulders, Optimus Prime stood tall, proud and very, very angry. 'Oh, shit,' Freddie said in horror. 'I think that truck we drove off the road was from Cybertron.'

With heavy footsteps Optimus walked away, raising his hand upward and raising his middle finger to the drunken idiots before the police descended onto the scene.