“You are walking along, with some cured lunchmeat on your person. You happen across a parked Cybertruck, baking in the summer heat, its owner nowhere to be seen.”
The CuberTruck lays on its back, its belly baking in the hot sun, spinning its wheels trying to turn itself over. But it can't. Not with out your help. But you're not helping. You’re laughing your ass off. Why is that?
Why would I be carrying a wadge of meat as a vegetarian near a dysfunction hunk of dangerous unroadworthy metal that's not up to my Country's standards?
I must drugged, considering the luncheon meet turned into a giant ancient kangaroo from RACQ who just obliterated that dysfunctional heap of shit.
I wanted to see if an egg would cook on the panels in the hot sun on a 95F day last week when I saw one. Granted, having cured lunchmeat is more likely to have on hand than a raw egg, but I think we should get together for cybertruck grill lunch
