I was driving down the road when I saw her pulled over on the shoulder.  She had nice headlights and smooth fenders. She flashed her taillights so I stopped and grasped my toolbox. She opened her hood and showed me her tubes.  I wasted no time and undid her fanbelt. I pulled out my dipstick and she clutched my Slick 50. I asked her to stroke my piston while I examined
her rear end. I couldn't stand it any longer so I jumped her battery and dropped her pan. She turned over my engine then she blew my cylinder head.

Right when I thought I was going to get her motor running, a big engine burst though her doors and I reached for the valve covers. He was a Cherokee, straight out of impound.  He was on independent front suspension for vehicular homicide.  I reached for my greasegun, but he pulled out a jackknife and held it to my pinion. I feared for my life so I kicked the big axle right in the lug nuts. His engine seized on the spot and his warranty expired.  It was a closed gasket funeral. "What a greaseball!" she said as she lit a CV joint.  She was a straight six before all this happened but now she was a real winch. I asked her to be my grill, but she called me a fuel.  She told me she had six cylinders from previous carriages, so I packed up my trunk and threw on my hubcap. I called her once but we had a bad transmission.  It was 5 gears or so until I saw her again, she had a ring on her piston and her axle was oversized, so my temperature remained cool and I retained all my fluids.

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