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Over the yearz I've learned that there'z 3 thingz on'a car tha'cha don't screw 'roun' with: tirez, brakez'n yer oil pump.
The first two'll have yuh playin' Russian Roulette with'yer life, the third'll do the same with the life'a yer engine, but, duz turn it into'a nifty paperweight.
Stewie comez with fantastic max-grip, summer tirez. To go into winter expectin' to get away without fittin'er fer proper winter shoez is foolish'n riskz the livez'a you, your passenger'n anybody unfortunate enough to be between you'n stoppin' when you lose it . . . and, same'z Russian Roulette, with the wrong hoopz fer the situation, sooner'r later you're gonna lose.
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In life-long pursuit of that most mythic of beasts: the ever-elusive perfect corner. Well . . . that, r' at least a whole lodda clear spin-out room.
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