Recommended Music: The Little Old Lady From Pasadena by the Beach Boys

The drums thumped in the background then the song took off.

(insert lyrics about the little old lady from pasadena)

Motormaster paused in what he was doing and listened carefully to the words coming from Dead End's radio. He thought he had heard the singers say that there was no one meaner than some little old lady. Then he heard it again and frowned. How could that be? How could a little old human woman be that mean when she raced? There was only one way to find out.

"Stunticons," he rumbled, "transform!"

Those that weren't in their vehicle forms gave him a funny look.

"Why should we?"

"Because," Motormaster stated matter-of-factly. "There's a human there that needs to be taught a lesson."

"But that's just a song," Dead End pointed out.

"How do we know that's true?" Motormaster exclaimed. "Someone could have found out about this woman and is singing her praises for what she's done!"

"It does warrant some kind of investigation," Wild Rider slowly conceded.

"Then we're agreed!" Motormaster boasted confidently. "Transform! We're going to Pasadena!"

"Here we go again," came the groan but Motormaster paid no heed. They had their honour to defend, after all.

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Marmalaide Jones sat behind the wheel of her brand 2004 Jaguar and tapped her fingers impatiently, waiting for the light to change. The ninety-something was always in a hurry to get somewhere, often wishing that she could just tear through traffic.

'But then the Pasadena police department will be after me,' she scowled at the still-red light. 'And I don't need any more tickets.'

As soon as the light changed from red to green, Marmalaide gunned her engine and tore off down the street. She only needed to go about another block or two to reach her destination so gunning her engine really wasn't that necessary. But, when Marmalaide had been a very young girl, one of the things she had enjoyed the most was racing all of the boys and beating them.

'Those were the days,' she sighed happily as she pulled into the parking lot of the First Bank of Pasadena. 'What I wouldn't give to have just one more race, one last time.'

She climbed out of her car and went inside, paying no attention to the Transfans that made their way to Pasadena Convention Center. The old woman had more pressing matters to take care of.

An hour later, Marmalaide emerged from the bank's doors, feeling somewhat smug with herself. They never thought she'd do it. She could tell by the expressions on their faces but she had done it. She had finally done it. Her little beach-side house was finally hers.

As she approached her car, Marmalaide paused in mid-step. Next to her beautiful Jaguar stood five very tall robots. One of them smirked as she came out of the building.

"See? I told you she exists!" he gloated. She could only assume that it was a he because it sounded like a he. Marmalaide gave them a puzzled glance.

"Big deal," another one intoned.

"Yeah!" piped a third one. "There are lots of old human women in this town!"

"Excuse me but what is this all about?" she finally demanded.

The five beings glanced at her and the first one who had spoken took a step forward.

"We're the Stunticons," he rumbled. "And we're here to challenge you to a race, Little Old Lady From Pasadena."

"What?" she blinked, thinking she hadn't heard that quite right. She was over ninety, after all.

"We're here to challenge you to a race," he repeated. "We've heard about you, how no one can beat you. We're here to correct that."

"You're . . . challenging me . . . to a race?"

"That's right."

Marmalaide hesitated for a moment. The offer sounded very . . . enticing. Very enticing. She'd just been thinking not that long ago of how nice it would be to race again. With a nod of her head, Marmalaide smiled, gazed up at the giant robots, and said, "Very well then. I accept your challenge."

The five robotic beings whooped and cheered as Marmalaide continued to her car and climbed in. It would be a race no one would ever forget.

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"And in other news today, the city of Pasadena was rocked to its core as ninety-six-year-old Marmalaide Jones raced down Colorado Boulevard with a semi truck, two sports cars, a sedan, and a dragster trailing right behind her. An estimated one million dollars worth of damage had been done when two of the vehicles chasing after Jones collided into a jewelry store and a local shopping center. The remaining three vehicles also crashed. When police finally caught up with Jones, she had this to say . . ."

A picture of the spindly woman as police handcuffed her and led her to their car appeared on the view screen.

"It was well-worth it," the old woman said just before the screen shut down. Megatron shook his head.

"Should have known better than to let them challenge a human who wanted to race."