You know how it's 99% disgusting to throw-up? It stinks, burns, splashes everywhere, makes your eyes water, and cramps up your stomach muscles. BUT, there is the 1%. That far corner of your mind that you don't want to admit is there in the middle of your five alarm fire of hot mess. It is the part that is enjoying the vomiting process. Hopefully, my blog is that 1% .

Saturday, December 5, 2009

This Really Happened 3

You know what is really pathetic? Steel truck balls. Here’s how I learned that cold fact.

This morning I am just pimping my way, iPod shuffling and daydreaming about what might have been if I hadn’t failed the psychological profile to get into Dootson Truck Driving school - I would not be rolling the last 1984 Fiat Strada on the road in Los Angeles working for the fine people at “Rest Assured” toilet seat covers refilling peoples hopes from San Diego to Santa Barbara- when it happened: A white, Ford F-350 diesel dually catches my eye as it screams alongside and cuts me off barely missing my front fender. Just as I’m crossing the threshold of being shocked to pissed-off, I see them: Two huge steel balls swinging to and fro from his back bumper, the right one slightly lower than the left. Holy Christ, I just got tea-bagged! At this emasculated point, I was left with no options. I had to redline the Strada and give the stink eye to that cocksucker. Experience has taught me not to overreact to idiots that have wronged me on the highway. Most of the time they are completely oblivious to the fact that they were mere inches away from sending me to the sweet hereafter but I had to see what stupid looked like. I summoned all the power that 1.8 cubic inches of Fiat engineering (and a downhill) presented and pulled alongside the offending driver. I assessed by the length of his tyrannosaurus rex arms and huge head that my goateed and blue toothed new friend couldn’t be more than 5 foot 5 maybe 6 at best. Anger quickly dissipated to pity as I imagined the process: The dude goes into a Kragen Auto Parts store and gestures to a clerk for a set of the biggest baddest nuts for his big badass truck. I imagined him grabbing his tool kit and installing them with a straight face as his wife comes home from a long shift at Winchell’s, the 2 share a moment of mutual satisfaction: he proud of his sense of identity and accomplishment, she proud of her man’s competence. Then the happy couple fucks like hungry hippos and I die a little inside.

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