You enter what looked like a garage in hope to find where they keep the keys. It must be in one of the offices. So let's sniff around.
While you look around, you're whistling Katyusha from the "Girls und Panzer"-Anime and you can hardly wait to sit behind the steer wheel of a real tank. Maybe you can drive around a little, visit friends and family.
You looked everywhere. You even found the sticky porn magazines of the staff sergeant, who runs this place, but no keys. That's when you tried to google it. "Do tanks have ignition keys?" No, you only have to push a button to start it. You think you can do that.
They won't miss this one. It needs a car wash anyway. Maybe you can drop by at one on your way back. So let's get inside. But first make sure to take of the iron chains. There you go.
Just kidding. Of course I know that tanks have no windshields. What are all these buttons for? This gives me the creeps, it's so narrow in here. You gasp for air. You remember that you have had claustrophobic issues since you were a child. You have to get out of here now.
Come on, tear yourself together! Can't you smell it? The sweet scent of faded soldier farts in synthetic upholstery. The scent of glory and victory. Let's start the engine.
You pushed the button which had "Start" written on it. And the engine started. To your left and right are two levers, left to turn left, right to turn right, use both for straight forward. One last thing: Google "Can I honk in a tank?" It's just in case you need it. Not, that you try to honk and accidentally trigger the 16 mm machine gun. You don't want to hurt anybody.
All went well until you decided to visit your aunt Margareth who lives dozens of miles away. When you entered the highway the other drivers became impatient because your tank was driving so slow. They called the highway patrol and you ended up in live national TV. And shortly after that, they arrested you for domestic terrorism. Your mom called you and promised to pray for you, when you'd be over in Gitmo.
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