Southbound

Martina Neebelson roars down the expanse that is Texas State Highway 71 in her red '69 Camaro; a car bearing much resemblance to some kind of military vehicle or a much larger version of one of Jamie Hyneman's legendary "Battle Bots" death machines. Here I mean to say the car was fortified: a steel grate on the front that was practically industrial fencing, a 100% authentic cow-catcher, wheels with rubber nigh on 6 inches thick, bulletproof windows, floodlights, and those hubcaps that have spikes protruding on each tire. "Let's see what this baby can really do," Martina muses, though having owned the car for some 15 years now, already knowing full well what the car can "really do". Plantarflexion of the right foot, leaving it almost parallel to the road below, guns the car to 150 mph as a large cow enters the gaze of her floodlights. Kablooie! The cow-catcher performs exactly as it should, hooking the cow and throwing it over the car to smash into a million pieces upon the rapidly receding highway. Martina grins and plugs and large pinch of Skoal Long Cut Wintergreen as a reward, her very first dip. She quickly finds herself dizzied almost to the point of nausea and rolls down the window, spitting the dip into the wind and throwing the tin along with it. "Dip, shmip," she whispers in realization that she doesn't actually much care for chewing tobacco. In compensation for a strong personal sense of embarrassment (stemming from her failure to enjoy the dip), Martina floors it.