 Well, Earl grabbed on the shifter, and he stabbed her into fifth gear, and then the chromium-plated, fully-illuminated, genuine accessory shift knob come right off in his hand. I says, you want to screw that thing back on, Earl? He was trying to thread it on there when the fire fell off of his cigar and dropped on down, sort of rolled around, lit in the cuff of Earl's pants, and burned a hole in his sock. Yeah, sort of set him right on fire. I looked on out of the window. I started in a counting phone pole, going by at the rate of four to seven power.