My strategies are legendary. My execution is exceptional. My slaves know this, nevertheless they mindlessly stumble into my traps time and time again. The reunion of the past few days wasn’t as perfect as I had been dreaming about, and add to that the Toyota double-timing, the hurricane, and then the Knut drooling; a storm was brewing.
We left Santa Teresa, crossed the border into Brasil, and went to the beach. Not just any beach, but 300km of barrier island beach separated from the mainland by a lagoon. The barrier island stretched from Chuy to Rio Grande with each end point being the only entrance/exit. Aside from a few automated lighthouses, the barrier island was void of humans. The first full day of driving on the beach was uneventful; the slaves saw some dead whales, sea lions, and turtles. The morning of the second day the beach all of a sudden started to become extremely narrow as the ocean rose up to push us off the beach. I saw my chance, and I struck like a viper. The alternator gauge went full tilt to maximum deflection. The slaves were too preoccupied with escaping from the now near non-existent beach to notice the gauge. To keep them confused, I also sent the engine temperature gauge a lot higher than normal.
As the slaves navigated through the sands and into a pine forest to escape the ocean, I let out a few farts from my batteries (acid farts). The slaves noticed this; apparently smell is stronger than sight in my slaves. A removal of the battery cover under the driver seat revealed what I had prepared for them; a boiling battery. The slaves disconnected the alternator and tried to press onward. For a few minutes I let them think they had out smarted me, then I gave them a fire in the dash panel. They tried to turn off the ignition, but despite turning the key I did not relent. The dash was smoking, the stereo was smoking, and the batteries were boiling. The slaves got the fire in the dash extinguished, ripping out all the dash wiring in the process. Unable to drive with a now disassembled electrical system, the slaves wired the fuel injection pump directly to the battery. Using a screwdriver on the starter solenoid, they started the engine and attempted to limp along in the forest to find an escape route from the ocean.
These slaves have certainly gotten a lot smarter on how to handle my tricks, but I brought the whole scheme of determination and hope to a close by blowing up the fuel pump cut off solenoid. Now there was no electrical hotwiring the slaves could possibly do to save themselves.
As the slaves slowly began to take in the situation they were in (isolated in a forest 50 km from the nearest human settlement), a whistling sound came from the forest and then a man appeared. The man explained that the slaves had escaped from the beach into a forestry camp which was harvesting resin from pine trees. Somehow, in all the spots of the 300kms of beach, the slaves had found the one place where there were some humans.
We left Santa Teresa, crossed the border into Brasil, and went to the beach. Not just any beach, but 300km of barrier island beach separated from the mainland by a lagoon. The barrier island stretched from Chuy to Rio Grande with each end point being the only entrance/exit. Aside from a few automated lighthouses, the barrier island was void of humans. The first full day of driving on the beach was uneventful; the slaves saw some dead whales, sea lions, and turtles. The morning of the second day the beach all of a sudden started to become extremely narrow as the ocean rose up to push us off the beach. I saw my chance, and I struck like a viper. The alternator gauge went full tilt to maximum deflection. The slaves were too preoccupied with escaping from the now near non-existent beach to notice the gauge. To keep them confused, I also sent the engine temperature gauge a lot higher than normal.
As the slaves navigated through the sands and into a pine forest to escape the ocean, I let out a few farts from my batteries (acid farts). The slaves noticed this; apparently smell is stronger than sight in my slaves. A removal of the battery cover under the driver seat revealed what I had prepared for them; a boiling battery. The slaves disconnected the alternator and tried to press onward. For a few minutes I let them think they had out smarted me, then I gave them a fire in the dash panel. They tried to turn off the ignition, but despite turning the key I did not relent. The dash was smoking, the stereo was smoking, and the batteries were boiling. The slaves got the fire in the dash extinguished, ripping out all the dash wiring in the process. Unable to drive with a now disassembled electrical system, the slaves wired the fuel injection pump directly to the battery. Using a screwdriver on the starter solenoid, they started the engine and attempted to limp along in the forest to find an escape route from the ocean.
These slaves have certainly gotten a lot smarter on how to handle my tricks, but I brought the whole scheme of determination and hope to a close by blowing up the fuel pump cut off solenoid. Now there was no electrical hotwiring the slaves could possibly do to save themselves.
As the slaves slowly began to take in the situation they were in (isolated in a forest 50 km from the nearest human settlement), a whistling sound came from the forest and then a man appeared. The man explained that the slaves had escaped from the beach into a forestry camp which was harvesting resin from pine trees. Somehow, in all the spots of the 300kms of beach, the slaves had found the one place where there were some humans.