*Dean... Of course... Sit's upon his motorcycle...

...
Akira style (That's cross legged at the back of the bike for alla youse non-otaku with a penache for older stuff). When he sees something he hasn't seen for a long time.
His arch nemesis.
The
Pocari Sweat machine.
The sun glints off of his sunglasses as he tears towards his prey. Only to be tripped up by a wate paper basket in the way. He sails, skids on his knees, then produces a RONCO Mr. Microphone. The local radios get but one message.*
He's OK folks! He's OK!
*Dean mugs for the camera...

... Then collapses into a heap. Muttering to himself.*
"Damn you machine... I will taste your pulpy goodness...*