You waltz up to the gas station to see your old friend Pumple Wiltskin. "Hello," he calls, "how are you faring this fine day?" Boy howdy, afterlife in Pleasanton sure is nice.
After a brief conversation and a bogus story about needing it for the school science fair, Pumple happily relinquishes ownership of his prized gas pump. "Don't worry," he smiles, "I'm feeling pumped!" Wiltskin points his decrepit finger at you playfully. Sheesh, the level of cuteness in here is starting to make me sick. ...No wait, it's probably just that rotting flesh odor I'm smelling.
  
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