Free music taxis and bait

It’s 4 am and I’m going to die.  I’m sure of it.

The taxi driver is on something.  I’m sure of it.

I never let her know that I still have feelings.  I’m sure of it.

And I’m going to die.

 

I was awake an hour ago.

Tater tots, ranch, and a fantastic shower help me greet the morning.

John, my coworker, protégé, and sometimes confidant, meets me at the house just late enough to make me worry.

The taxi is 15 minutes early, and he honks his horn.

It’s dark, like fuckin darkness, and if I didn’t need a ride to the airport,

I’d lob a flaming bottle of 180 proof at his taxi.

Fucking honk at me.

I’m the one who asked you to be here!

I’m sure of it

 

I briefly fantasize about how loud a “house horn” would be if it were proportionally sized to that of a car, just long enough for him to honk again. Fucker.

 

He pops the trunk for us to load a weeks worth of belongings into the trunk

Then tries to make a 3 point turn to go the wrong way down the one way street I live on.

Half way through he realizes his mistake, comments on it, and then asks us where we are going.

The air port.  I’m sure of it.

“I know that, which way do you want to go?”

 

How about the highway that leads directly there,

Unless you have an Einstein-Rosenburg bridge under wraps

And this whole incompetent taxi driver bit is some elaborate ruse.

The nerd in me muses with satisfaction.

 

The drive there is scary.

The car keeps wildly shuddering, like it has Parkinson’s disease.

I imagine if cars had it, they’d find a cure. I’m sure of it.

 

Dispatch asks where he’s at.

Driver explains that he used to coach dispatch in highschool football.

I tell him how fucking awesome I think sports are in general.

He agrees right through my sarcasm.

 

The driver spills into the passenger seat in a way that gives you a window into his choices that he quickly validates with a rambling story about making out with a woman that turned out to be a man.

“there’s only so much Listerine you can gargle with”

Awesome.

You should bathe in it.

 

Airport security is on us like….fill appropriate comparison here.

The front tire is so flat, we should be dead.

70 miles an hour for 20 miles. I’m sure of it.

We should be dead.

 

 

 

 

Jackson Mississippi, 12 hours later and I’m in the hotel.

The flag down here has the rebel flag as part of it.

During our tour of the dealership, people were sitting around eating craw fish,

Or as I like to refer to it, bait.

 

While we were discussing inventory control philosophies, 

Two parts guys talked for 45 minutes about the small turtle they had found in the parking lot.

As it turns out, there is way more to turtles than inventory control.

I’d lay my money on Bo,  it was a painter turtle.

Bo

Like Bo and Luke

The Dukes.

Awesome.

 

 

My life is endlessly entertaining, and I’m laughing all the way to tears.

 

Here’s what I’m listening to lately:

http://www.gigasize.com/get.php/494295/EA_Mix_vol_9.zip

I like about half of it.
Free music.