Going for a joyride on a wrecking ball
Gargling sawdust
Riding an anemic pony through the desert
Losing a slap fight to a bald eagle
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):
Scenario 1
Scenario 2
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.
Editor’s note: There was a sale on blow pops the other day? And I haven’t had a good night’s sleep in a while? You know that expression “I’m giving out lollipops and ass kickings”? Well, this post is about lollipops and ass kickings, but it was definitely inspired by lollipops and sleep deprivation.
Fact: Lollipops are awesome.
I would further argue that candy-stuffed lollipops are superior to regular lollipops and that these confections have paved the way for some very important culinary discoveries in food-stuffed food, like stuffed-crust pizza.
But of the two most popular candy-stuffed lollipops–blow pops and tootsie pops–which one is better? Or perhaps more importantly, which one would win in a fight?
In one corner:
In the other corner:
These competitors enjoy similar interests, including destroying braces
Getting stuck in hair
And listening to Lil Wayne
When the time came to battle, both candies were prepared to fight ferociously.
But ultimately, the brawl came down to a taste test.
And then something unexpected happened: Enjoying the candies of my childhood gave me Rainbowitis–a disorder known for filling its victims with overwhelming joy and happiness, causing them to forget what they were talking about.
So I guess it was technically a tie. I was too afraid of Double Rainbowitis to consider a tiebreaker.
P.S. I’m fairly certain this goes without saying, but in case there’s any question, I was definitely not paid by anyone to create this post. Although I was hung over on Advil PM when I wrote it, if that counts as a sponsorship.
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