Here is the second installment from the thread written by SeaKnight, which is a favorite in the Land Cruiser circles:
So now I have possession of Uncle Meldon’s 40, and I’ve ageed to get it to Hawaii. The truck seems solid and well maintained, but I don’t really know much about it beyond the initial inspection. I’m about to drive the old girl 3,600 miles, so a thorough pre-flight systems check seems in order. I live on a corner lot on a relatively busy street, directly across from a greenbelt. Out front there’s an endless stream of joggers and cyclists, in addition to heavy vehicle traffic during rush hours. Out front is not the safest place to park. We also have an abundance of door-to-door solicitors so I typically ignore anyone who approaches the house–magazine sales, crusaders with petitions, charity volunteers asking for donations, beggars, religious zealots, you name it. I avoid ’em all like the plague.
One sunny afternoon, with departure only a couple of weeks away, I decide it’s time to get better acquainted with the truck. Just to be safe, I’ve parked the 40 out of harm’s way on the side street. I’m lying in the street underneath the engine bay checking out belts and hoses and stuff, and I see feet approaching, slowly and tentatively. Dark trousers, black business shoes. I’m thinking this can only be one thing, a Mormon missionary, and I am not in the mood. The feet stop alongside the truck and I hear a very polite: “Excuse me.” Hmmm, he’s almost too polite. Now I’m convinced it’s a missionary, so I stay under the truck and totally ignore him. He says excuse me again, this time a bit louder. I still ignore him. I figure I can stay under the truck and wait him out, and he’ll eventually go away. There’s a long pause, he paces around like he’s deciding whether to leave, and then I hear these magic words.
” Nice 40, man. Didn’t mean to bother you. I live in the cul-de-sac 2 blocks down the street and I see your Cruisers on the way home from work every day. I have a 40, and an 80, and a Pig, and I’m a home brewer. If you ever need help wrenching, let me know.”
He begins walking away. I quickly crawl out from under the truck in order to catch him before he leaves, and in the process manage to bash my head on the winch. Flesh wound. It was worth the injury. He’s not a missionary. Not even close. He’s Tucker74 from MUD. He does own Cruisers, and he knows how to brew some beer.