In the sleepy little town of Barkanow, Indiana, in the year 2009, just after the 4th of July festivities and the remnants of the family picnic have been cleared away and folks are back to their usual routines, a fellow named Floyd Rithman is busy in his garage pouring litres of orange liquid into the gas tank of the family car.  He has rewired the distributor, replunked the fuel injection system and recanted the calibrations of the torque conversion to allow for the combustion he anticipates will be the initiation of his newly contrived apparatus.  His wife has been drinking coffee all day to help with the effort and his two teenage daughters, Trina and Malina, have done their share by swigging two litres of their favorite cola. 

As he pours the liquid into the car, his neighbor strolls by to see what he is up to.

How's it going their Floyd, his neighbor wants to know.

Oh, so so, Floyd tells him amiably.  I got the converter torqued about three degrees to the right and the floyd capacitor, he gives him a wink, is set on 'marginal', another wink.  And I think she'll run.  Wanna see? he asks him.

Why sure enough, the neighbor says amiably and Floyd invites him to hop in as he turns the ignition.  The car starts right up, quiet as you please.

Where we goin? the neighbor wants to know.

Oh, thought we'd take a ride down to the sanitation department, Floyd says happily  This thing works better than I ever thought.  Didn't even have to process the waste product, the engine does that all by herself, don't you, Gertrude, he says, patting the dashboard.

Hmm, says the neighbor, processes what Floyd,  he wants to know.

Well, Hattie's been drinking that coffee all day and the girls were playing scrabble and watching soap operas out on the porch.  I got me nearly three gallons in her right now.  Let's see how far we can go.

Floyd looks at the fuel guage.  It was at half full.  That ought to be enough to get to the sanitation department and back, Floyd thinks and he comes to a stop at the light on Main Street.

So how long you been working on this idea? the neighbor wants to know.

Oh, a few weeks. I got to thinking about some computer ideas, that thing about the autoexecutor state being the idea that really grabbed me.  I mean, the idea behind that was that in order to go out into outer space, you have to have what they call an autoexecutor state in order to run the keyboard in a space ship because it's running on nuclear energy.  Things would be way too hot to handle if you didn't have your autoexecutor state.  And, well, auto means automatic, which got me thinking that a car is like that, and why couldn't it dissolve our body wastes inside itself to run itself.  So I did some fooling around with the fuel injection system, took a few parts off of a kidney dialysis machine they were throwing away over to the hospital and figured out how to convert the liquid aspect of the fuel product and there she blows.  Floyd was very happy to see the car running so smoothly.

The neighbor was impressed.  So you figure the sanitation department might be interested in this? he asks him.

Sure they would, says Floyd, sure they would.

They drove along the tree lined streets and quiet neighborhoods of Barkanow and before long they were at the gates of the sanitation department.  They pulled into the parking lot and turned off the motor.  Inside they found two engineers working at control panels. 

Can I help you says one of the engineers.

I guess you could, says Floyd, who proceeded to explain was his car was running on.  The engineers were amazed.  You did all that yourself? they asked him.

I sure did, says Floyd very pleasantly.  And my wife drank coffee all afternoon just so she could pitch in.  She's runnin' great.  Go have a look.

The engineers went out to the car and sure enough, when Floyd switched on the motor, the car started up like she was still in the showroom.

Ain't that a beaut, says one engineer.  I better call the mayor.

Before long, the local gas stations were selling Floyd's precious fuel under the name uanaol and charging one dollar a gallon.  It was agreed that Floyd would have one dime for every gallon sold and before long he was able to get his motor home out to the lake and catch himself several trout.  His daughter got her new braces and his wife bought an espresso machine.

Tell you what, said the neighbor to Floyd several weeks later.  That stuff is really something.  It don't even smell.