Transcript: (GRUNTING) (PANTING) You talked him into it! Way to go, Mr. McQueen! (SIGHS) Cruz. Me: Oh Boy You could talk a snowmobile into an air conditioner. You're goin' with me? With that thing? Yeah. You still need me help. You're brittle like a fossil. (WHIRRING) -We got the cable. (MUMBLING) -I don't need a trainer out here, Cruz. You're old! What if you fall this beach and can't get up? Well, life's a beach and then you drive. (LAUGHS) SMG4: LoL -Oh, McQueen. -Thank you. This is beautiful. I can see why Mr. Sterling said you wanted to train here. As soon ar this thing's booted up, we'll get you on the treadmill... all I'll track your speed. What? No! Sonic: Oh Heck No! The whole idea is getting my tires dirty. Real racin'. I'm not drivin' on that thing when I've got the sand and the whole earth. (MACHINE CHIMING) -Oh, okay. -Luigi, let's do this. LUIGI: Welcome, racers, to Fireball Beach! Historic home for today's greatest of speed. Our finish line will be the abandoned pier in the distance. All right. Quicker than quick, faster than fast, I am speed-- That is great self-motivation. Did you come up with that? Yeah, I did. Me: Yes, He Did Cruz On your marks. Get set. Go! (WHOOPING) (Sonic Running) There ya go! Felt good! Hey, what was my speed? I don't know. I can only track you on the treadmill. Me: No! >:( No treadmills. Oh! What about Hamilton? ELECTRONIC MALE VOICE: Hamilton here. Who's Hamilton? My electronic personal assistant. Ya know, like on your phone. You do have a phone, don't you? Racecars don't have phones, Cruz. SMG4: Also HeadLights In Racing Because The Track Is Always Lit Hamilton, track Mr. McQueen's speed and report it. -Trackin'. I'll stay as close as I can. Your suit will transmit your speeds to Hamilton. Fine. Whatever. let's do this. Quicker than quick, faster than fast, I am speed. Come on, Luigi. On your marks, get set, and go! HAMILTON: 46 miles per hour. 63 miles Outta range. Huh. Elizabeth: What Happened Cruz? That's odd. I didn't go! (REVVING) On sand you gotta ease into your start so your tires can grab, okay? Okay. You do work with racecars, don't ya? Yeah, but never outside. All right. Let's go again. Go! -HAMILTON: 54 miles per hour. -There ya go! Sonic: Nice Job Cruz 75 miles per hour. Outta range. -Huh? -(HAMILTON REPEATING) Sorry! Got stuck! Sonic: What?! -Go again! -And go! -Ah! Sorry! SMG4: Son Of A 4! -LUIGI: Go! Whoa! Talking Tom: Come On -Go! -(ENGINE REVVING) The beach ate me. McQUEEN: All right, Cruz, Pick a line on the compacted sand. You gotta have traction or you're gonna spin out. Let's do this thing! On your marks, get set, go! HAMILTON: 122 miles per hour. 134 miles-- Outta range. Me: What the 52 Cruz?! -Now what? -I didn't wanna hit a crab! -You gotta be kidding me. Sonic: Oh Come On! -What? It was cute! (McQUEEN GROANS) SMG4: Damn McQUEEN: All right, one last chance to try this it gets dark. Now, you're gonna take off slow., -to let your tires grab. -Yes. And pick a straight line on hard sand, -so you don't spin out. -Uh-huh. And all of the crabbies have gone night-night. Mr. McQueen. All right. Let's go again. And go! 150 miles per hour. 175 miles per hour. 196 miles per hour. (WHOOPING) All right! Finally! Ya made it! Congratulations! How'd I do? -You topped out at 198. -198? That's it? Still slower than Storm. Elizabeth: Aw Man
I Don’t Own Anything!!!!!!!!!!
