Stiglet knocks the back of the car out around a turn as he lights the jet engines. The engines burn the midsection of a huge tree, making it fall over. The huge evergreen and its assorted woodland creatures now block the path of whoever's behind us...mwahahahahaa.
Back to the straight. LS floors it, cruising easily past the Glorbipod, which loses power at the smell of the moose. It bounces off the bouncyshield and into the parking lot, killing Awkward Freshman Fridge Thief #4.
Lucifer eyes the corpse longingly. "Mmmm, fresh soul." The perfect distraction...
I make a last-minute call over the team radio: "It's time."
Lavender Stig flips a switch, releasing none other than Nelson Piquet Jr. out of the WPOS's trunk and onto the track.
"Where is ze kittycat?" he said, rubbing the spot where his bum hit the pavement.
Evergreens are no match for british engineering. No, wait. We pile into the trees, and unfortunately one large branch takes Dick's head off in the process. Now he's just a quivering body. But the head is still with us!
Suddenly the cow-ray shoots out of control. It hits a tree, a dead moose, an outhouse, LurkerPatrol's left nipple, a floral arrangement, a couple of snowmen, and the awkward freshman vomit on the track. The track is now covered with cows.
Panicking, Lavender Stig sets the car on autopilot to dismantle the cow-ray. He gives it a swift kick in the ray gun testicles and it falls apart. That was simple enough.
But wait...nooooooo! The car is headed for the field of cows!
The cows bounce off the bouncyshield and all over the place: into the pits, onto Richmondgal's car, in LeMans GTR's lunch, and most annoyingly: into the main bathroom for the pits.
Great. Now we'll all have to hold it 'til the toilet's fixed. Or use a Nalgene bottle. Eeeeeeew.
After another mis-communication, this time between Team Owner's hands and the crappy number pad on his phone, he barely wakes up in time to participate in the finish of the race. The car is falling apart, from what, the night-team won't say.
Now that we have our best driver back behind the wheel, he promptly runs into the back of Scuderia Ankbajs. Our alcohol-cannon has suddenly started mooing and hitting on the driver.
With blood still pouring from Dick Dastardly's flailing body we speed towards the finish. The engine is starting to fall apart and is spewing expensive oil all over the track. A mixture of blood and oil can be very slippery.