STORYTIME WITH FLASH 2

A BRIEF REUNION BETWEEN MR. POTS AND A MYSTERIOUS OLD FRIEND...

Mr. Pots had often spoken of his automobile. Whenever down grabbing a frosty pint at the local dive with his minions, whenever shopping for deals at the local bread outlet... whenever, always, always he spoke of how he missed his car.
"Car is magic. You can pack it fulls of ghosts. Tells *ME* WHAT *I* need to hear."
"But how do you know you're not just imagining that, Pottsman? how are we supposed to believe you?" one of his compadres might implore.
"Asshole!"
KA-BOOM!
"Never a mutiny. Never a munity." Mr. Pots was ice cold. He wasn't lying.
"I'm not fucking around."
"Mr. Icy Pots. Get the fuck outta here."
The Pottsman. He wasn't lying. The car was magical. Now he had it back.

***
"Look at that teeeerrrrrrrible shit!" said Mr. Pots the day he regained possession of his prized automobile. He slapped his hand on the hood.
"Wowie! That's some shit. That's some shiit!"
All of his disciples crowded around the vehicle. There was an inscription just under the driver's-side door handle, an incription of gold.

MANIFESTATION 2.
MANIFEST DESTINY FOR THE REST OF US.
HAWKMEN COLLECTED.

"Pottsman, lay it on me!" Sergio Moondog slid out from under the hood in a cloud of smoke. Sergio Moondog, the mortal engine! The human machine. The disciples gasped. Who knew what await them?
Mr. Potts laughed. "My minions, how much you love your new lives, you fuckin' brothers!"
"Brotha brotha brotha." Sergio's eyes were made of liquid gold.