Within the last week my 1980 something tool shed of a car decided to breathe its potential last breathes. I say potential last breathes because it is now relying on me to fix it and my handyman skills are questionable at best. My father however, could correctly fix anything on Earth that has a moving part to it, and I have always relied on him, and assisted him in fixing cars. Since he is an ocean away, I find myself being guided over the phone on how to revive my dead land yact, and things look glim from my standpoint. I am though impressed on how well my father knows me, and sort of scared on how he is telling me to fix my car. First off, he had me pop a spark plug wire off and "jam a screwdriver into it" while "having a friend try to start the car". My father knows me well because he said " hold onto the handle and not the metal part of the screwdriver" and he told me to look for flying sparks, which there were. Next my father told me to "bang on the gas tank as my friend tries to start the car", I guess thats Texas engineering or something. My father (knowing me) told me not to use a hammer to bang, for this would put holes into the gas tank. Yes indeed it would, and this would have occured to me as an afterthought, to me "hammer=banging" when it comes to fixing things, simple logic really. Lastly, (and most scary) my father instructed me to buy a can of choke carb cleaner (an extremely flammable canned chemical) and pop off my fuel rail (like I knew where/what that was) and spray it directly into the engine while my buddy sits "safely" in the car and tries to start it while I spray. While I bought teh carb cleaner, I picked up canned spray paint and repainted the flaking rust spots on the hood. Which until today were being held down with tape to keep them from coming off. I have my doubts that my car will ever run again, but its fun taking it apart right now and playing detective so we shall see.