Paul's bellow of shock and revulsion would be mighty, indeed, had he not apparently aspirated some of the maggots. God, I hate this show. The radio chooses this moment to switch itself back on, and Screamin' Jay Hawkins howls away in the background as Paul frantically scrabbles with the door's handle to plunge headlong onto the slick asphalt, where he chokes and gags and spits up maggots just as Metallicar leaps up behind him from points unknown. Action Ginormotron scrambles to wedge the entirety of his fifteen-foot frame beneath the steering column, and while he gropes around for the hex bag he's certain to find, Dashing El Deano pounds away at Paul's hacking back. "Got it!" Sam eventually shouts, and he yanks himself back outside where he quickly deploys some sort of piston-hinged turbo jet-lighter to immolate both the bag and its contents.

Back at Horsey Amanda's, her carefully prepared feast goes up in flames. "Rats!" shrieks Raoul. "All that lovely food! Such a waste!" You scare me, dragon man. "My pleasure, I'm sure!"