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A piston moves up and down, just as life does. The greater the vertical distance, or stroke, a piston travels, the more energy is made. A greater surface area, or bore, to the piston longitudinally, will also increase the energy output. Higher energy transfer translates to increased frictional wear. Since engines must be balanced, for every upstroke, there is a downstroke.
Water and Oil

Kaclunk! The white smoke under the hood stunk; your car is junk. Get everything out of the trunk, pull the defunct plates off the chunk, and hitch a ride with a drunk. He’ll debunk the automakers as punks, as he plunks another glass bottle at a skunk. But the mechanic implied that it must be the lack of oil in the pump. The sump, dried, and your dump died. If you’re mystified, parts collide, and damage is magnified. An engine denied oil is suicide, he described. Carbide if misapplied, can be liquified; this metallic tide causes problems global wide. Simplified, he replied, slide that certified clump aside, that wreck won’t glide. Go drink some purified dihyrdrogen monoxide, or you’ll end up like your ride.
Drink more water, and change your oil more frequently. They do the same job.
Load 16 tons and what do you get?

I go into the frozen wasteland to pry a chunk of ice from a cliff side. A sizable piece this big should last months.

Dragging it back home, the load feels lighter with each passing mile; the sun’s hot beams pushing the ice block for me.

Smiling at my burden being eased, I walk into town with my arctic prize. I hear people laughing at me. Looking backwards, I’m dragging a wet rope.

Another day older and deeper in debt
Tick, tip, tap, rippity, smack,
You didn’t change your oil.
Kachunkachunk, kablooey, baboom, the piston has left its room. Now, the baboon must spend his dabloons soon, or suffer the wrath of friction in bloom. Zoom Zoom
Whistle while you work

My tinnitus is irritating. The sound screeches my thoughts to a halt, like an emergency brake on a train. It’s like having a jet taking off next to you, but you can’t put your hands over your ears to soften the deafening whine. It hurts your eyes, and makes your stomach sick. Sometimes I forget I that have it and I think that a pressure wave explosion has been detonated near by, and that I need to seek shelter. I think one day I’m going to wake up to the same pitch, but it’s going to be coming from a hospital machine.

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More thoughts from the garbage disposal
Meeting minutes of the p-brane

The thought that three thimble thumbs thatch this thorny threat, surely superimpose suede surfaces; such summoned suits shall share sheepishly short shoes. Should sharp, shimmering, shallot shapes ship shaking shin splints, splurge splashed splinter. Spray specially spun sparkling springs spanning space, spreading sparks sprung splendidly.
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