Hear me out because everyone spends fifty bucks buying six different brands of mystical penetrating fluid when the oxy-acetylene torch is sitting right there in the corner begging to solve your misery in thirty seconds flat. People swear by letting some magical concoction soak overnigt like they are marinating a steak, but all you are doing is giving the rust extra time to bond on a molecular level out of pure spite. You get that cast iron housing glowing cherry red and the thermal expansion does all the heavy lifting that no chemical can replicate. Sure, you might melt a rubber bushing or burn off some paint you spent three days curing, but watching that stubborn grade 8 fastener back out smooth as butter with zero resistance is pure art. Drilling out snapped extractors because someone trusted a spray can instead of fire is a rite of passage we should stop glamorizing.