I’ve been driving back and forth between Orlando and Savannah so often these days that I’m starting to have nightmares about truck stops and their tastelessly flashy displays of beef jerky. And while some people might use the extra quiet time for self reflection or at least a nice audiobook, the four hour drive has proven to be a perfect breeding ground for confusion, bitterness and frustration for me.
I guess the upside is that I suddenly have a new appreciation for those characters in pop culture who are tragically doomed to travel forever. Like that weird dog-dragon hybrid Falcor thing in the Never Ending Story. Or, maybe more accurately in my case, the characters of The Oregon Trail. I mean, I’m not exactly going west, but I’m pretty sure we’re out of buffalo meat and I definitely typhoid–or allergies.
The downside is that, unlike the family in The Oregon Trail, I don’t travel with a shot gun, and the vehicular terrorists of the world have really started to get me down. I’m not talking about car bombers. I’m talking about these ass clowns:
Guy whose greatest joy is tailgating everyone–even if you’re the only other car on the road
Lady who is oblivious (or indifferent) to the truck tunnel of hell you are confined in
Man who does not like to be passed but is not interested in maintaining a high enough speed to stay in front of you…or maybe he just really misses being young enough to play leap frog without getting judge-y looks
It begins innocently enough with this:
Followed by this:
And then, it starts all over again:
I suppose my long drives haven’t left me completely heartless, though, because I have considered two scenarios in which I would be totally cool with the knowledge that these vehicular terrorists are still out in the world. And here they are (in no particular order):
Again, this all assumes that I do not have access to super-powered mutant bears, which I believe will probably become available after an apocalypse, likely one involving some kind of Gatorade flood where bears are suddenly extra-full of electrolytes and rage. Because if I had an army of bears at my disposal, I would just ride the bear around and I’m fairly certain no one would fuck with me. Gatorade-fortified, mutant bears definitely DO NOT negotiate with terrorists.
All text and images by this is not that blog are licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-NoDerivs 3.0 Unported License.
Based on a work at www.thisisnotthatbog.com.
Permissions beyond the scope of this license may be requested by e-mailing email@example.com.