Midnight Highway

Being as I am terminally afflicted with a modern illness termed “Road Rage” it is often that I have to self diagnose myself and quickly take measures to protect not only myself, but also the general public at large.  This morning, I am cruising down the boulevard; all is well in my world. 

Traffic is light, most of it has cleared out, and the road for the most part is quite empty.  I am pleased, I chuckle and think, “If I was any happier I would have to pay an amusement tax.”

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Cheaper Than A Mistress …

 When was the last time you zoned out at the counter and just had what your Mama used to call a Happy Dream … Much, much too long I would venture.  Today for your reading pleasure, Cheaper Than A Mistress, Creative Endeavors, the home of Boxcarokie.com

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Suddenly I find myself craving a fresh bowl of gravy and a hairball, so I go over to the local beanery.  The local beanery is American slang.

In some circles it is also known as a Choke & Puke, but we are not about being gross this day, so we will call it a beanery.

Hunger my driving concern forced me out of the shop, those pesky slack adjusters can wait, it is time for food and another adventure into the public arena.  I need nourishment, someone radar me something to eat and make it fast!

Sliding into a booth at Denny’s the world seems circumspect almost peaceful and serene.  And then suddenly, as if by magic, he finds himself lost in a world of his own.  In his mind’s eye he envisions himself walking around the bus meet parking lot, where he stumbles across Mona.  

She was interesting, her old 4104 looked tired and run down.  She said that she had just drove straight thru from the World Famous Darrel Waltrip Truck-stop in Franklin, Kentucky, and only used five quarts of oil.  

The bus looked pretty tired, but Mona, now she was a little different.

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She had the mystery of Garbo or Monroe, the allure of Lauren Bacall, the torso of Bridgett Bardo (which is really dating this guy, he should be using Jay Lo or Britney Speers someone like that).  Feeling lucky he invites her back to his 89 Prevo, with the polished slack adjusters and freshly painted underbody.  Opening the door he invited her in and she looked at him and smiled.  “I like what you have done with the floors.”

The perfect entrance to a man’s heart.  Sweat Equity and Power Tools.  

A very intelligent smart girl.

He looked at her, lost in his passion, with awe and ecstasy (It has been a long time, no?).  “He pulled her mouth to his and kissed her so hard she moaned.”  His mind is now racing, “she is so beautiful and she already knows how to dump!  I must be in heaven he thought to himself.”

Yeahsus!

This is much, much better. 

A grim smile played across his lips (almost a sneer) then they made passionate love on the back bedroom regular sized bed with the convenient storage underneath (yeah I am sure, in your dreams lover boy). Her trim, brown skinned body was bare, save for a wet sweat filled bikini (89 Prevo’s apparently are not all that cool this time of the year). 

He ran his hand along her back to the string that fastened her bikini top.  Tan lines traced her beautiful torso all the way to her triangle of her — And then the plate hit the counter with a resounding ring!

“You the Grand Slam, the side of ham and the hash browns?”

Back to reality.  

Wake up its early, eat your eggs they’re ready, you have things to do.  Well, that is the way it goes.  One of these days, I hope it is soon, I am gonna get me a life. The wife said I cannot keep living vicariously thru these lousy bus-boards.*

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*Any resemblance to anyone owning, driving, or selling a 4104 or full-timing or traveling in a 89 Prevo is purely co-incidental and should not be taken as factual.  No reprints of this article are allowed unless you have written permission from the NFL or America Has Got Talent.  Please no phone calls, all of our off-shore operators are busy.

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How Do They Know I am NOT in Texas?

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I open up my FakeBook account and there it is, “So and so, says you are not in Texas, you are in Oklahoma.”  (Sanity Fix According to Mike Crouch, your still in Oklahoma and if the lake don’t rise will see you tomorrow…….How in the ____ did they know that?

Do they have GPS strapped to the underbody of the beast, when I pulled into the Flyin Hooker to purchase copious amounts of ancient dead hydrocarbon based animals.  Did they surreptitiously slither underneath my old hoopie and place a tracking doo-hickey (Okie Technical term) to follow me around the country.

By the way, “I do not personally know anyone that goes by that name,” that is kind of buggin me too.

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