I may have created a contender for the annual Bulwer-Lytton fiction contest. See what you think:
Like the underdog in some celestial bar-fight, the moon slowly, warily, circled the earth, dodging behind the wispy scudding clouds at every opportunity. Unaffected by the events above him, Bart Sandoval, or Lizard Screamer as he was known to his Pascua Yaqui relatives due to an unfortunate incident when he was just a toddler, failed to notice anything but the roar of the engine, the squeaking, groaning complaints of the shock absorbers and springs and the throbbing ache in his groin as he piloted his ramshackle pickup down the rocky arroyo.
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