On one hand you're starting to get a bit wary of travelling by car, considering it's gotten you potentially killed about 500 times at this time, but on the other you're kind of excited about getting a rental. What'll it be this time? Kitt from Knightrider? That crazy Van from Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles? Or maybe the one from the A-Team? Or...

...this. "It's all we've got." the guy at the car rental told you. Perfect. Just perfect. This dusty old zombiemobile can't have been driven in at least two centuries. Well, no sense in standing here complaining about it. You fill up the tank with a mixture of petroleum and Listerine, give the engine a twirl and hop in. Gasping and wheezing, the car crawls its way to the freeway.

A few hours later, as you're lazily rolling towards Washington DC, you hear a sudden crash and you come to a dead stop. Sure enough, your car bumped into a pigeon and has broken in half. The car, not the pigeon. Swearing, you leap out and give the car a frustrated kick. Just then, a prissy voice sounds behind you.

"I say, ponce. Couldn't help but notice you gave that automobile a jolly good thrashing. Can't have you damaging precious relics of a nobler time, eh?"

You meet eyes with a stuck-up looking dandy who's just stepped out of a mile-long limousine.

"Pray, do apologize to that car lest I beat you to within an inch of your life, cretin. I shan't have it suffering your villainous ways."

It's been a trying day. You don't need some nancy Victorianophile talking down on you as if his shit doesn't stink. You bend over and tear a wheel spoke off the car's corpse, meaning to put a few dents in that stovepipe hat of his. But you never get the chance.

Just as you rise up, the dandy puts his fingers in his mouth and whistles loudly. A veritable army of identical looking dandys pours out of the limo, canes raised menacingly. The resulted beating leaves you not within an inch of your life, but actually several inches without of it. Cheerio.

PIP PIP, START OVER!