(...And now for something completely different.)

(with thanks to Antoinette.)

Another Stock Car Amateur night and all the would-be heroes roam the garage waiting for their assignments. The prize money isn't much, but there's more at stake: the chance to establish yourself as an up-and-coming warrior.

Around the room, a lot of repeats back from last week. The best of them will move up. The worst of them won't come back. The rest of them will be here again next week like they always are. Many of tonight's faces are familiar ones, back for their third or fourth try.

Then there's Heavy Man Michaels. He's been repeating for over eight months, continuing his streak of demolishing a car every week. You have to admit, the man's got spirit, but not much else. Except tonnage, lots of tonnage. One of the reasons Michaels doesn't get very far is that the stock cars used just weren't designed to fit someone of his stature. There's not enough room to maneuver. I've also heard that any car he's driving goes from 0 to 60 in sixty seconds.

But the real reason he doesn't move up is the fact that he's totally inept. The man can't drive or shoot. And strategy is way beyond him.

While everyone else paced nervously, some awaiting their first taste of the arena, Michaels bickered with Monty, the pit boss. Monty waved in my direction, and the two of them headed my way. I felt a cold streak of terror in my turbines.

"Okay, Michaels. You want a winner? Take Old Betsy, here. This is the one that Johnny Devil rode to victory five times out of six. Tonight, Johnny's debuting in the Division 5 free-for-all. He won enough to buy his own car."

Michaels lifted a heavy foot and kicked it against my left front tire. What a moron. Next, he opened my hood. My pressure was so high, I hoped I would pop a valve and get out of this. At the least, I wanted to spit coolant in his face.

"She looks okay," said Michaels, as if he could tell. "Ill take her."

"Uh-huh." Monty mumbled, marked his checklist and walked away as the Heavy One opened my door and sat his chassis-crunching body behind the wheel. He spent several minutes getting familiar with my controls. I prayed he'd learn something fast--I didn't want to be totalled tonight.

Twenty minutes later, we were sitting behind Gate 3. The starting pistol fired, the gate flew aside, and Michaels jumped on my pedal. Ouch! "Take it easy, Lead Foot," I hummed.

There were four other cars in the race. I knew them well--they were all friends of mine. Unfortunately, Michaels had spent so much time with me, he never got around to checking out his competition. He was coming out cold.

Michaels swung me around hard, and I found myself on collision course with Dragon Breath, who mounted two rear flamethrowers, but no forward weapons. Good choice to start things going. Quickly I honed my twin MGs on her, waiting for the signal to fire.

"I don't trust that one," uttered the Heavy One. Looks like she's hiding something. I'll go after the blue one. That one looks like a piece of cake."

Suddenly, I veered off to the right. Dragon Breath was laughing at me as she passed and scorched my tailpipe with a double flame, getting back for all the shots I'd taken at her when Johnny Devil was at my helm.

We closed in on Thunderbolt. "Shoot now!" I hummed to Michaels. "Pull the trigger before we get too close."

He laughed. "Once I get to point-blank range, I'll hit 'em with both barrels!"

Point-blank?! Thunderbolt was loaded with rockets! He wanted us at point-blank. My objections fell on deaf ears. Seconds later, I spat a few rounds at Thunderbolt. He launched two shells, one of which I took on the chin, making me very dizzy. At least my sides were still unscathed, but I knew that wasn't going to last long.

I had stopped spinning and just started up again when I heard a loud crash. Ram-King was pulling away from Rocket Rider, his first victim.

"Hey, Betsy!" he roared. "Pucker up! I'm gonna give you a big kiss on the next pass."

"I'm not that easy," I hissed.

I roared off in pursuit of Thunderbolt. I was on his tail where I wanted to be but too far back to fire effectively. My wheels spun as fast as they could, considering the load I was carrying. We were closing in as he rounded the far bunker. Suddenly, Ram-King popped out from behind the bunker in front of us.

"Here I am, Betsy! Kissy kissy!"

Lead Foot jumped on my brakes and swerved hard left. I spun out again and smashed my left side against the bunker. Ram-king roared past.

"You can't keep avoiding me, Betsy."

I was hurt. Nothing serious yet, but I had had more than enough. It was time to take charge of the situation. Without waiting for Slowpoke, I threw the car in gear and accelerated after Thunderbolt. I caught up before we were halfway around the arena. He had slowed up because Dragon Breath was up ahead waiting to lash out.

Thunderbolt was boxed in when I aimed the MGs to fire. "Pull the triggers, you dolt!" Somehow, he heard me and fired, chipping away at T-bolt's rear armor, which completely disintegrated on the second volley. He had no choice but to accelerate away, right into Dragon Breath's flamethrowers.

Amber-crimson flames engulfed Thunderbolt. His driver stopped and signalled surrender, and arena groundskeepers quickly ran out to extinguish the flames before he blew. I had gotten him out of the race, even though Dragon Breath got the points for it. Meanwhile, under cover of fire and smoke, I shot past both of them and positioned myself in front of D-Breath where neither one of us could attack the other.

"Betsy," she called out. "My driver remembers scorching some armor off your butt before. We're gonna rear-end the rest of it now. Think you can handle it?"

Sometimes, that junkpile's smugness really got on my circuits. I could handle it all right. In fact, I would have encouraged it. D-Breath jumped her speed and closed the gap quickly. Michaels didn't know what to do, but that didn't matter because I did.

A moment before we would have been bumped, Ram-King came around the corner up ahead. Michaels panicked and swerved again. I spun out for the third and last time, smashing my right armor on impact with the arena wall. Sigh. At least I still had my top and underbody armor intact.

Dragon Breath screamed, her driver was not able to react in time, and the two of them collided with Ram-King at a speed that even the King couldn't handle. The collision was chassis-crunching. Even though Ram-King managed to pull away, his engine was exposed, and he was powerless to fight.

The battle was over, and we were victorious. Slowly, I crept to the Winner's Circle to be crowned the winner. Michaels got out to receive his trophy and prize money. The track announcer asked Michaels about his future plans.

"Oh, I'll be back here next week. And I'll be driving the same car. That's a winner's car all right. She handles like a dream and practically drives by herself. I'm gonna drive her for as long as I'm in the Stock races."

Oh, dear Lord. Let them sell me for scrap first.

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