Please, Oh great tire gods, I have suffered your wrath twice in the past two weeks, contending with the sharp metal objects that have plagued my Goodyears & Kelly's low these many days. I have paid homage to your minions, the space saver spare, mounting it upon my stricken vehicles, even in the coldest of weather, heedless of the pain in my frozen fingers, my soiled garments and my delayed appointments. You have struck me low, oh great tire gods, yet I see no pause in your torment of me. The slow leaks on my Caravan's rear tires vex me greatly, yet you offer me no remedy, even though plugs & fix-a-flat have been given up unto you. My Focus' rear tire has been cruelly slit upon my journey through the nightmarish roads of S.E. Michigan, a curse be placed upon their poorly kept "roadways". I have but one choice, oh god of vulcanized rubber, to seek new tires upon which to place my trust. The Bridge of Stone, the Yok of hama or, if my donation is large enough, St. Michelin may bear my trusty metal steeds to many a mile down the paved paths of this great nation. Amen.