Pit Stop Tuning

A proper war wagon needs fangs, and my red truck looked entirely too friendly for the arena. I hauled the machine into the cool shade beneath the patio bench to set up an emergency pit crew of one. Scouring the mossy cracks between the brick pavers, I struck gold: a discarded, jagged metal bottle cap. I wedged the rusted crown directly into the front plastic bumper, grabbed a flat river stone, and hammered it down with three thunderous thuds! It bit deep into the hood, jutting out like a vicious silver grimace. Now that's what I call curb appeal!