"Rambo knife teens could be here" he thought, "I've never been in this neighborhood before. There could be Rambo knife teens anywhere." The cool wind felt good against his bare chest. "I HATE RAMBO KNIFE TEENS" he thought. Sweet Dreams are Made of These reverberated his entire car, making it pulsate even as the $9 wine circulated through his powerful thick veins and washed away his (merited) fear of large chinesium knives held together with a few drops of epoxy. "With a car, you can go anywhere you want" he said to himself, out loud.