Friday, June 30, 2006

Why can't I blog like this?

Hopefully, with some practice, I'll develop the acerbic wit of Gabe over at Penny Arcade. I'm not saying my summer vacations were exactly like this, but you would assume that quite a few kids along for the ride on their parents vacation ran into the same thing. Who are kids to complain, I mean, they could be home, riding their bikes, playing with their friends and attending summer fun fests but instead they get the back of a station wagons and a 3ft. radius to psyche scaring family battles that will haunt their dreams 25 years later. Excerpt below (warning, naughty launguage ahead):

"The lake we would sometimes travel to, and I think they called it a lake because it had not completely evaporated, was clearly home to toxic mutants. As dangerous as that sounds, this was not the primary concern, for this area of Washington was famous for its rattlesnakes. I don't mean they had a rattlesnake exhibit where you could see them inside a cage, and then emerge from that dark zoo, the sun on your face, in a land blessed and free of them. No, the people in
"them parts" are proud of these things. There is a sign by the main thoroughfare that says "Watch Out for Mister Shakes!" who is apparently famous not only for being a snake but for being a very large and dangerous, free roaming fucking man-eating snake. It was my presumption as a young man that he was called Mister Shakes both a) as a courtesy, i.e., "Please don't bite my fucking ass, Mister Shakes!" and also because of the rattling you might hear before he slunk from the grass to murder you. I understand now with the wisdom of many years that the shakes they referred to describe the strong spasms associated with their thick,
(sometimes) black venom.

And the food out there on the frontier. Jesus Christ. Eating at whatever rat trap happened to be attached to the gas station we just coasted into. Plate heaped high with fried hair. Warm cylinder of milk pulled from whatever animal happened to be pregnant at the time. So, no. He can rattle his keys all day, if he would like. I'm not going to suit up and get in the car just so I can drink cat milk, eat hair, and get killed by the king of fucking snakes."


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