In the middle of it is Clutch Cassidy, sweat dripping profusely, gear grease and smudges all over her body, while clad in a white tank top and a pair of denim daisy dukes that accentuate her thicc milkshake that brings all the boys to the yard.

She weilds a greasy wrench like it’s Excalibur, and wags it at someone off camera. “Y’all call that shit horsepower? Y’all need some American muscle up in here. In Bristol, that shit ain’t even donkey power.”

The Cutie with the Thicc Booty turns and tosses Scoops Mcgee a cool-gal nod through the camera and starts popping off her big ass mouth. “When that munchkin Dick Licker told me I’d be fightin’ in a last person standin’ match in an auto shop, I figured, hell, might as well build me somethin’ that’ll keep me standin’ longer than you, old man Scoops…. You dogged badass sumbitch you... cause I can't afford to rest on my laurels about this being a brawl in an auto shop, which is my world."

The young gun wipes a swath of sweat from her forehead with her fingers, then extends them out to her side. “Watson, you know the drill.” On cue, Watson, the wimpy paper pusher guy she took command of in her last promo steps into view and greedily, HAPPILY sucks the sweat off her fingers.

“That’ll put some hair on your lil bird chest, baby boy!” She bellows with nothing but confidence because she actually believes it. So does Watson, apparently, as seen by the awed stare and feeling for the hairs inside his shirt.

She playfully shoves him out of frame. “Scoops, you old coger you… you ain’t foolin’ me one single damn bit. I ain’t buyin’ this shit bout you being an old man with no stamina anymore and how ya can’t lift things too good. In the words of Simon from The Walking Dead….”



“I seen’t you knock that pretty boy Seb smooth out for a ten count, and that boy is in a league I ain’t ever gonna even reach. If them old man hands crack my pretty ass chin with all that old man strength, my ass will be laid out for three days at least. Prolly more, sugar. You’re 63 years old and still have the torque to turn heads. You've been drivin’ your career on bald tires for ages and still ain’t spun out yet. Respect, you old bastard, you.”

Clutch salutes him respectfully, but then wags a finger, though, and wraps a hand around a lever. “But ya see, Scoops. This shindig ain’t about nostalgia or respect, it’s about evolution, about who’s got the parts to keep going when the body starts to rust.”

She lets the suspense build a moment before pulling the lever. A bunch of car parts lower from the ceiling on hooks, things like tires, mufflers, hubcaps, headlights, chrome grilles, and so much more. “So, Scoops, I’m giving myself an upgrade for our lil donnybrook.”

The scene cuts into a montage, complete with “Born to be Wild” as the music. During it, we see Clutch configuring mufflers on her arms like gauntlets. She mounts hubcaps on her shoulders like shoulderpads. A car grille is seen being affixed to her chest by the Spanish mechanics.

To complete this ensemble, we see a sped-up series of clips featuring Clutch and mechanics fashioning a “helmet” made out of an air cleaner cover for the dome piece, hubcaps for the cheek plates, grille section for a mouth guard, a serpentine belt to wrap the base as a crown, and the cherry on the mechanical sundae… a LED headlight as the forehead piece mainly for style points.

The music suddenly stops.

The montage ends.

We see Clutch in full armored mode, striking a Power Ranger pose at the camera while sparks are flying behind her from a welder doing last-second work on her.

“Watson, claw me, baby boy. Let’s crank this sumbitch up!” On command, the nerdy wimp resurfaces with an oil funnel and jams it down her mouth, then opens some cans of White Claw and empties them fully into it. Clutch is a gosh damn champ and chugs them shits like it's nothing. Spitting the funnel out, she roars in a celebratory manner and starts revving up her arms.

Watson gets in on the action, belting a cracking voice, “VROOM! VROOM! VROOoooOOM!” Sparks shoot out like exhaust. He squeals excitedly.

“Scoops McGee, meet CLUTCHAMUS PRIME!” Clutch yells, wild-eyed, big, stupid grin stretching. “It don’t matter where I park my sexy phat ass, Bristol or Spain, I’m built to last. Scoopy McPoopy, you can knock me down, but I’ll get back up eleven out of ten times, recharged and refueled, baybay. You ain’t gonna outlast me, darlin’, cause Clutch Cassidy and CLUTCHAMUS PRIME don’t stall out and we DAYUM sure don’t run out of gas!”

She revs again, smoke spilling out from somewhere behind her. Watson is seen stepping into the smoke plume to bask in it.

“Scoopilicious McGee, hun, when the smoke settles, you’ll only see one thing, a boot through your headlights. VROOM VROOM BAYBAY!”

The scene cuts to the end since there is no more screen time for this micro vignette, but it’s a montage of Clutch, Watson, and the mechanics of the auto shop partying, getting shit faced drunk, and playing stupid and dangerous games ‘testing” out Clutch’s armored suit which provides defensive and offensive capabilities, and is one of the VERY few things she'll have going for her in a match against a legend with more experience than two entire lifetimes of her.