OK, so when I was a senior in high school I ran over a .....
wait. OK So I was dating this really hot flutist from a neighboring town.We kept it quiet because they were our sport rivals. So on this particular Saturday night I went over to her folk's place. They had about 40 acres and her dad raised cows in his spare time. He had a strict 6 cow to 1 bull rule. He seemed to think that was the proper bull to cow ratio. And I will tell you what, that man grilled steak every Saturday and Sunday. Not little half inch steak, one inch or better steak, with butter and Worcestershire sauce. And he had a spray bottle to douse the flames if it looked like it was going to burn. So anyway, on this Saturday I had paid off my older cousin to score a four pack of wine coolers and a bottle of Boone's Farm Strawberry Hill(which has absolutely nothing to do with either strawberries or hills.) After an evening of friendly banter with her parents we wandered off to check on the cows. And after a beverage or
two I did a safe slide to second base. I got the no go sign for third and being an intelligent ball player I understood the signal and avoided being picked off going for third. So a bit later we went back to her house and I said goodnight. As I was travelling from her abode to mine in my Chevrolet El Camino on this dark and deserted two lane road I suddenly heard a thud. Well actually a series of thuds. As we are all taught not to do in emergency situations, I of course slammed on the brakes. Had I thrown a rod? Had the transmission fallen out? Had her dad followed me and missed me but hit the radiator? After pulling off to the side of the road I realized the vehicle seemed fine. The brakes obviously worked. The radio still functioned so the battery was ok. No steam from under the hood. So I took the next logical step. "OMG, I've run over some young child's dog." Now this happens in rural communities. Not a thing one wants to deal with, but you just do. You get out, find the dog and go
find the owner. You apologize, offer to bury it and go on your way. So, it's 11:30 on a Saturday night and here I am with a flashlight(I had a flashlight behind the seat next to the baseball bat, ball and glove. If you have a baseball bat behind your seat or in the trunk always have a glove and ball, your lawyer will thank you.) and I'm looking for a dead or wounded dog that probably belongs to an orphan that rescued it from, I dunno, wild cows that were mad because there was only one bull and six cows. And there's no blood, no dog, nothing. On the side of the road is a round rock. And I was all 'Well, dang I hit a rock.' Then I kicked it.
And that is when the creature from the seventh level of heck unrolled and hissed at me before it just wandered off into a pasture. I'm pretty sure that in the event of a nuclear apocalypse, the survivors will be cockroaches and armadillos.
wait. OK So I was dating this really hot flutist from a neighboring town.We kept it quiet because they were our sport rivals. So on this particular Saturday night I went over to her folk's place. They had about 40 acres and her dad raised cows in his spare time. He had a strict 6 cow to 1 bull rule. He seemed to think that was the proper bull to cow ratio. And I will tell you what, that man grilled steak every Saturday and Sunday. Not little half inch steak, one inch or better steak, with butter and Worcestershire sauce. And he had a spray bottle to douse the flames if it looked like it was going to burn. So anyway, on this Saturday I had paid off my older cousin to score a four pack of wine coolers and a bottle of Boone's Farm Strawberry Hill(which has absolutely nothing to do with either strawberries or hills.) After an evening of friendly banter with her parents we wandered off to check on the cows. And after a beverage or
And that is when the creature from the seventh level of heck unrolled and hissed at me before it just wandered off into a pasture. I'm pretty sure that in the event of a nuclear apocalypse, the survivors will be cockroaches and armadillos.