So I’m driving to Monterey on Highway 17 at about 80 miles an hour when I spy something coming toward me out of the corner of my eye. It’s spherical, it’s bouncing, and it’s coming straight for me. 
What the fuck do I do? It’s a two-lane freeway and there’s a car on my right and some fucking roofing jackass riding my ass completely oblivious of the car in front of me and what appears to be a baseball rapidly approaching. I start to slow but realize this fucking baseball is gonna hit me no matter what.
I quickly try to think what Picard would do in this situation, as I do in most dire emergencies, but the only thing that comes to mind is some delicious hot tea. Damn you Picard! Where are you when I need you–too late, the baseball bounces directly underneath my car’s undercarriage, loudly ricocheting off the engine block and bouncing back at the roofing jackass behind me. Great, I finally get this hunk a junk back together and the local Little League decides to start expanding their outfield into traffic. Who gets hit with random baseball? The question mark (oooo scary) that’s who. So for the next hour I’m driving at varying speeds, listening intently for some indication of engine malfunction. A couple times I think I hear a rattling, then a knocking, but then it goes away. Hmm. Well touche National Passtime, you’ve succesfully now managed to both bore and scare me to death.
What the fuck do I do? It’s a two-lane freeway and there’s a car on my right and some fucking roofing jackass riding my ass completely oblivious of the car in front of me and what appears to be a baseball rapidly approaching. I start to slow but realize this fucking baseball is gonna hit me no matter what. I quickly try to think what Picard would do in this situation, as I do in most dire emergencies, but the only thing that comes to mind is some delicious hot tea. Damn you Picard! Where are you when I need you–too late, the baseball bounces directly underneath my car’s undercarriage, loudly ricocheting off the engine block and bouncing back at the roofing jackass behind me. Great, I finally get this hunk a junk back together and the local Little League decides to start expanding their outfield into traffic. Who gets hit with random baseball? The question mark (oooo scary) that’s who. So for the next hour I’m driving at varying speeds, listening intently for some indication of engine malfunction. A couple times I think I hear a rattling, then a knocking, but then it goes away. Hmm. Well touche National Passtime, you’ve succesfully now managed to both bore and scare me to death.