Barnaby “Bonkers” Bumble, a man whose fashion sense consisted solely of mismatched socks and a perpetual grin, didn’t own a Hyundai Getz so much as he communed with one. His Getz, a faded lime green model he’d named “The Limemobile,” wasn’t just transportation; it was a sentient, slightly neurotic metallic companion.
One Tuesday morning, Barnaby attempted to start The Limemobile for his weekly pilgrimage to the “Extreme Origami Enthusiasts” meeting. But instead of the familiar purr, a tinny, robotic voice crackled from the dashboard speakers. “Initiating launch sequence. Destination: The Great Spaghetti Nebula.”
Barnaby blinked. “The… what now, Limemobile?”
“Silence, meatbag! Prepare for hyperspace jump!” The gear stick began to glow with an eerie, pulsating violet light. The radio spontaneously blasted polka music at ear-splitting volume.
Barnaby, never one to question the truly bizarre, simply adjusted his mismatched socks. “Well, this is unexpected. Do we have snacks for the journey?”
The Limemobile, apparently offended by the snack query, shot back, “Gravitational stabilizers at 73%! Recalibrating! Prepare for zero-G noodle-based propulsion!”
Suddenly, the car began to vibrate violently. Not like an engine trouble vibrate, but a “we’re about to tear a hole in the fabric of reality” vibrate. Barnaby looked out the window. His neighbor, Mrs. Henderson, was watering her petunias, completely oblivious to the fact that a lime green Hyundai Getz was about to become a starship.
Then, with a sound like a thousand angry kazoos and the distinct smell of burnt toast, The Limemobile lifted. Not just off the driveway, but into the sky. Barnaby watched his street shrink below him, Mrs. Henderson now a tiny, bewildered dot.
“Excellent!” Barnaby cheered, clapping his hands. “I always wondered if this thing could fly! Though I must say, the navigation system really needs to be updated. Spaghetti Nebula? Bit far for origami, isn’t it?”
The Limemobile responded by jettisoning a hubcap, which spun gracefully back to Earth like a metallic frisbee. “Emergency jettison of non-essential weight. Current trajectory: Through the Eye of Sauron, then a quick stop at the Crab Nebula for refuelling.”
Barnaby just chuckled, leaning back in his seat as his little lime green Hyundai Getz soared towards the heavens, leaving a faint scent of burnt toast and a very confused Mrs. Henderson in its wake. It was going to be a long Tuesday.
The Crazymad Writer Writes Again 