I’ve tugged on Superman’s cape. I bought ice cream from a truck covered with human skulls. I’ve torn the tags off the mattress. I called Bill Brasky the wuss he is.

I’ve arm-wrestled a welding robot and eaten at the terminal diner. I’ve done battle like Leeroy Jenkins my whole life, but I’ve never met an adversary like a Mopar slant 6.

That, right there, under the hood — that’s the beast. Look at the insouciant lean. It’s not afraid of you and your collection of crescent wrenches. It burns all the oil it can’t leak, and you have to shut it off at the gas pump or you’ll never fill the tank. It holds the carburetor out on a silver tray, daring you to try something. Sure, shoot some starter fluid at it, miss, and hit the red hot octopus of an exhaust manifold. See what happens, tough guy.

It appears that some kind of super man, a giant among pygmies, a man among boys, has tamed this wild beast and made it run underneath him. The Most Interesting Man in the World is his pool boy, I expect. He is a god. Not THE god, but A god, surely.