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- Wingnut dishwashers union lyrics i hate the police driver#
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“Do you mind keeping your oily human hands to yourself?” Sideswipe snapped, just feeling the fingerprints burn permanently into his polish. He frowned, leaning against the door as if to peer into a back seat, and jumped back in surprise when the car protested. He was fully expecting to see one of the pampered brats that race through town behind the wheel, offering him a jeering sneer and a lazy demeanor. With a growl Sideswipe pulled over.Īn officer, mid twenties with sandy blonde hair, approached and tapped on the window. His generosity quickly evaporated when the officer followed suit, trailing his bumper by a few feet and showing no signs of passing. Soon the caterwauling sounds of a siren blared beside him, and being in an exceptionally generous mood despite current circumstances, he eased into the slow lane to allow the officer to pass. He really wasn’t a morning mech.įifteen minutes later, Sideswipe nearly jumped out of his plating when a flash of blue appeared in his rear view. ‘Fragger,” Sideswipe snapped, laying on his horn and scaring the hell out of the early morning motorist. “Base out,” Red Alert said without waiting for a response. Thinking it was way too early in the morning, Sideswipe gave a sigh and added, “Transmission received.” “Prowl and Sunstreaker are nearest and should meet you at these coordinates in half an hour.” “Prime cares about all under his command,” Red Alert added, not raising to the challenge the Lamborghini had a habit of starting. “Nice to see that some bots care about us lowly front liners.” “No favors or anything,” Sideswipe grumbled, allowing his engine to idle on high for a moment before settled back into a soft purr. I can find the nearest to have you escorted to the base.” “Prime ordered search parties for you after the battle. “I shall inform him of yet another visit,” Red Alert said, not bothering to sound sympathetic. “Tell Ratchet I should be there in a couple of hours and I expect his regular bedside manner.”
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so he could verbally abuse another driver that dared to inch his domestic sedan so close to the Italian masterpiece. “Currently stuck in traffic, approximately one hundred miles away with only seventy-eight percent functional capacity.” Sideswipe cut his comm. They rarely saw optic to optic and Red had a nasty habit of figuring out pranks that were works of art. Red Alert wasn’t one of Sideswipe’s favorite mechs. “Red Alert here,” came the welcomed, yet unwelcomed response. “Sideswipe to Ark,” he said, voice already strained with the early morning commute.
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Cursing his luck, Sideswipe tried his radio, hoping his repair nanites had seen fit to give him a voice so he could alert the other Autobots.
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Traffic barely allowed him access, and after a block, a full stalemate kept the commuters in tightly packed groups. “Only 78 percent?” he muttered, starting his engine and pulling away from the curb. And fragging cold from the rain that started to patter on his chassis.Ĭhecking diagnostics, Sideswipe let out a grumble of protest. Sideswipe snapped out of recharge, ready to yell at his brother for the wake up call, when he realized he wasn’t in his shared quarters with his brother. The only thing for the warrior to do was lay low and allow his self repair systems to engage and get him stable enough to return to the Ark.Ĭycling his repair systems, Sideswipe allowed himself to drift into recharge mode, oblivious to the world.ĭawn broke with a rather strident blare from a horn. Sadly, Sideswipe was stuck on the outside of the perimeter, his usual pristine shine now dulled and abused, one wheel protruding slightly due to a faulty transformation. The place was locked up, preventing the front liner from taking a position inside to blend into his environment in case Thundercracker decided to return with his trine. Now, several dings, dents, scrapes, and blown gaskets later, the red Lamborghini was taking refuge on the outskirts of an exotic car dealership. Sideswipe suffered from numerous injuries from the attack, many caused by a jet rolling on top of him as they scuffled on the ground, where Sideswipe had the advantage. Thundercracker sported a new racing stripe, before making a hasty retreat back to his faction. Sideswipe, having been playing with the jets, was nearly a hundred miles from home.
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The battle had been over for nearly an hour. He sighed, cringing at the abnormal groan from his chassis as he sank lower on his wheels. “Sideswipe to Sunstreaker? Optimus Prime? Prowl? Slag, I’d even settled for Gears at this point! Anyone reading me?” “Sideswipe to Autobots?” the red Lamborghini called through a secure line.