A few years ago not long after I escaped the mob, I walked out of my job ( Office supervisor for manpower services) as it was inside and was driving me fuckin stir crazy. With nothing planned I started up as a self employed Taxi driver. I was on the base one day and this bloke who was one of our private hire drivers arrives with his new car, a skoda. This type. It was in the summer an a tad quiet at the time of day it was so we all stood round having a bit of banter. The base op then gives the Skoda owner (Stan) a job but tells him he is sending him a bit early. Why asks Stan? Well your car sounds like a fuckin lawnmower, and I thought the bastard came with an optional grass box, you ain't earning much here see if he wants his lawn cut. Stan fucks off ranting and does his job. Later on some spark sees whats written on the boot Skoda Turbo, and adds a stick on letter so it becomes a Skoda Turbon. He flips again when he finds it and is told he gets to do the Indian restaurant as his car now sounds like a food blender. All of a sudden he jumps in it and drove as fast as he could in the distance he had and piles it into the tool shed. Its fuckin totaled. He strolls back over to the assembled crowd and states he's put the mower away, and fucks off. We never saw him again and the car remained where it was until some wagon pulled it away weeks later. Imagine playing fuckin uckers with him.