Don't get into strange cars occupied by heavy-set strangers

There's that phrase “to hit the ground running” which invokes – at least to my mind - the immediate biomechanical jolt transmitted from terra firma in equal but oppositional reaction to the slam of the leading foot; indeed my thoughts turned to the re-coining of such a notion in order to account for some of the more chaotic forces encountered in life, especially in the context of my just having been jettisoned out of a fast moving car, which I just had. The sensible thing, perhaps, would have been not to get into the car in the first place; however, four heavies tooled-up with devices specifically designed to inflict pain – hold on, does a baseball bat with the nails embedded the wrong way round count as multi-purpose? - anyway, can be pretty persuasive, even in retrospect. The resultant enforced exfoliation by asphalt had proved much rougher than your average beauty treatment, though certainly the after-effects went beyond the merely skin-deep; let's just say my fat-slack ab-slabs would be the least of my presentational worries conspicuous when housed in my beach suit briefs.