Fast-food restaurant grease ran down his chubby fingers.
Reaching for the cup of bubbly sugar water to wash it down, he took a long swig.
It tasted so so good. He snatched up his burger and took another ferocious bite.
Eventually, the stuffing of his face subsided and he turned back to the problem at hand.
Differential equations had destroyed his brain, but after that carb load, it was time to strike back!
Image: By Sicnag – 1964 Oldsmobile 442 2 door Hardtop, CC BY 2.0, https://commons.wikimedia.org/w/index.php?curid=45448417
Machine magician, doctor of octane studies, wrench whisperer
Every one of those titles match well with her engine grease pedicure
Changing the blown out head gasket of an Oldsmobile 442
Her wizardry breathed life back into that smoke belching dragon
And by the end it bent to her will, purring with all eight cylinders
Now ready to consume as much blacktop and gasoline as could be reached by the tip of the pedal
It was the masterful application of her sorcery and to celebrate its completion she pushed her mount to the max
Causing twin black streaks as evidence of her passing as she rode the beast into the distance
Crunching greasy fried chicken
Reveling in the horribleness of it all
It was like the sound was a delectable spice
Satisfying something deep and primal
Pushing mere sustenance into something heaven sent
Yet also devil spawn for the grease stains on my shirt