Highway to the dangerzone!

Did you ever have one of those nights were you drank WAY to much? You know the nights I am talking about. It is way past getting shitfaced and porking a fatty. I mean a night were you black out but keep going. You wake up the next morning in a dumpster and quickly discover you have no pants on, you’re wearing a coat that doesn’t belong to you and you have a pair of panties on your head. The upsetting part is that the panties have the name “Ethel” stitched into them and are big enough for you to use as a hammock. That kind of “drank way to much”. Well fortunately for you dear readers this is often how I find myself and have no problem telling the amazing tale.

Usually, after I crawl out of the dumpster I try to figure out what state I’m in and I start the trip home, but this day was a little different. I hadn’t even made it to the shelter of a dumpster. Apparently I passed out in Iowa in a cornfield just along interstate 90. The next morning I woke up to find it raining and the only thing I was wearing were a pair of sweatpants that said “Gators” down the left leg and had a hole in the right knee. I was a little confused by this as I have never been a Florida Gators fan, and really didn’t know any one who was. At least not well enough for them to lend me their sweat pants.

As I had previously mentioned, it was raining and I was sans shirt and shoes, so hoping to enter a gas station to get a map or directions was right out…as they refuse service to those with out shoes and shirts, but ask yourself, aren’t those the members of society that need the most service? Any way, I had figured out I was in Iowa, about an hour from the South Dakota state border, which meant I was a good 6 or 7 hours driving time from home, who knew how long it would take hitch hiking.

I stood a long interstate 90 with my thumb out trying to get a ride for about an hour, then finally a rusted out 1984 Oldsmobile Omega slowed down and the passenger door opened. I crawled into the car and thanked the driver. He handed me a roll of paper towels and said “Great balls of fire!” I just kind of looked at him and replied “Thanks.”

Just then Kenny Loggins came blasting out of the stereo. The tune was “Highway to the Dangerzone!” and I must admit that it was a little strange, but then I shook it off. I kept looking over at the driver and I couldn’t get over his resemblance to Anthony Edwards. I think he sensed I was looking at him and he said, “Where too?” I told him, “Anything in the direction of Rapid City.” He shook his head in agreement, then took me by surprise by saying, “Show me the way home, honey.”

After a few miles I decided to introduce myself. I was just trying to be cordial, I figured he was being nice enough to give me a ride I would at least make small talk. He turned his head toward me, lowered his mirrored sunglasses so his eyes could be seen just over the top of them and said, “My name’s Goose…There’s two “O”s in Goose. ” I just looked at him and shook my head.

As we continued on down the road I tried to entertain him with a joke. Something along the lines of “What did the sign outside of the whore house say…beat it we’re closed.” He just sat there stone silent. “I asked, not a fan of comedy?” He looked at me and said, almost excitedly, “Yeeha, Jester’s dead!”I had no idea how to even interpurate that and my head was starting to hurt.

About 100 miles down the road we pulled off the interstate to get some gas. I looked at Goose and told him I was going to use the shitter. He looked back and me and said “It’s the bottom of the 9th, the score is tied its time for the big one” I just sort of grinned and walked away. I had to admit, his weirdness was starting to grow on me. I came back from the shitter and he was still getting gas, so i decided to go in and get a Butterfinger. When I got to the counter, I reached into the pocket of the Gators sweat pants and found a $5 bill. I placed it on the counter and the creepy woman with the lazy eye said “Exact change only!” which came out sounding more like “Eezatt chains ohly”, so there I stood in a conundrum.

Goose came in to pay for the gas, his total was $35.14 and he laid two 20’s on the counter. Once again the ladybeast cackled out “Eezatt chains ohly!!!” Goose didn’t look at all worried though. He simply started humming and moving around the store,then he busted into, ” You never close your eyes anymore when I kiss your lips.”  Next he was hanging off the corner of the bread rack like a pole dancer spouting out ” And there’s no tenderness like before in your fingertips.” Next thing I know he is prancing down the snack foods isle toward the counter singing ” You’re trying hard not to show it”. Then he ran and did a power slide on his knees while crooning ” But baby, baby I know it…” Then he jumped up and sat on the counter, caressed the side of the wench’s face and sang through the chorus.

It was without a doubt the weirdest damn thing I had ever seen, but it worked. Apparently she was so flustered by all of it she let up on her “Eezatt chains ohly!!!” rule. I grabbed my goodies and realized that I had a yearning desire…a need if you will, for papaya juice. Goose asked me if I was ready to go. I said “I feel the need…”, but before I could finish Goose interrupted me and said “…the need for speed.” I looked at him sternly for cutting me off and said, “No, the need for papaya juice.” “Oh, alright.” Said Goose. “You want me to get you some delicious papaya juice?” I asked. “Hell, I’d be happy to just find a girl that would talk dirty to me.” Obviously I had no idea how to answer that. I paid for me juice and walked out side.

Goose tossed me the keys and said it was my turn to drive. Instead of getting in the passenger side of the car, he got in the back. I was a little weired out by this series of events, but by this point I was getting used to him. It was only another 200 miles to home, then I could look forward to another great night of drinking.  Unfortunately about 40 miles down the road it started to rain heavily and the car began to hydroplane. It was nothing serious, I just had to work at regaining control, but we weren’t going that fast and there was no other traffic on the road. Goose must have thought the situation was a lot worse though because the next thing I know he is up on the back seat in a squatting position and then he tried jumping through the roof.

All he accomplished was hitting his head so hard that he passed out. I pulled over, checked his pulse and once I was sure he was o.k. I decided it was time to find a new ride. I walked down the road a little and stuck my thumb out again. Surely another vehicle would come by. It wasn’t long before one did and sure enough I was soaked to the bone and ready to get out of the rain. It didn’t even bother me that the guy driving looked exactly like Tom Skerritt.

One response to “Highway to the dangerzone!

  1. Reverend Blaze

    Sounds like something Hunter Thompson would write about. I Like it, now finish the fucking story!

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