Once again, I have to offer a shrug while straining at a seized bolt. It lets go with a pop – and the ratchet spins relatively free. "Hope no one wants that timing cover, that bolt won't be fun to get out," I comment as I finish getting out what's left of the bolt, chucking it off to the back of the engine bay with a clatter. "I don't know how to approach you about something like that," I explain. "I seem to say the wrong thing at one point or another, and you get frustrated like I know better than to say it."