Oh noes! You got me! I get up every morning, light a few candles around a photo of Dan Gurney, slather myself in baby oil, turn on a little Marvin Gaye, and pull my wicker bill to the sultry sounds of a 3.4L Mercedes pushrod.

Jesus H. Christ on moped. Boles and Miles ought just hand in their resignations. With geniuses such as yourself out of circulation no wonder things can't get cranking at the old speed plant.