Rusty is 52 years old and held together by duct tape and spite. He has one job: deliver deeply weird packages around town before the clock runs out, or before he falls apart. Whichever comes first. (It's usually the falling apart.)
Grab silver duct tape rolls to patch him up. Trees hurt. Cones don't. Chickens are launched gently and land fine, they're used to it.
He is now several separate pieces.
Rusty is taking a little nap. He earned it. Press P or the button to keep going.