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Blind Curve Ahead ***holy crap long but funny!!!!***

Discussion in 'The Lounge' started by darkshadow, Jun 25, 2005.

  1. darkshadow

    darkshadow 1 ton status

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    Blind Curve Ahead [font=verdana,geneva,arial,helvetica,sans-serif] I forced my eyes shut and held them tightly as I tried my best not to think about what time it was. If I go to sleep NOW, I can get a solid 3 hours, and that should be plenty… I’ve done a lot more than just drive to Kentucky on a lot less than 3 hours sleep before, so I’ll be fine… I inhaled deeply through my nose, stopping mid-sigh as a forlorn strand of dog hair was swept from it’s lazy trajectory of floating through the air and sucked into the vortex created by my nostrils, causing me to gag. AGAIN.



    AGUHAAAHHHHHH! Daisy, that stupid… GOD! I ****ing hate DOGS and every little hair on their bodies! I coughed and rolled over on my side, feeling the unrelenting floor push against me from underneath. Between the dog fur (which was EVERYWHERE), the ticking of the grandfather clock just behind me, and the flashing of the VCR display across the room which illuminated the room in teal green for a second at a time, it was no wonder I couldn’t sleep, you know?



    The truth is, it wasn’t any of those things that kept me tossing and turning that night. My ability to sleep through just about anything, just about anywhere was legendary. All I needed was my headphones and about ten minutes to get used to the surroundings and I could saw logs through a hurricane. So really, a ticking clock and a blinking VCR display had no real effect on me. They just made great scapegoats for my anxiety about driving a 26 foot truck full of someone else’s furniture nearly 400 miles to Lexington, Kentucky keeping me up all night.



    And it’s not like I could blame Tom for the condition of his house. After all, a VCR blinking “12:00” repeatedly doesn’t really annoy the blind, and his Seeing Eye dog’s fur probably only irritated the breathing passages of those who put their noses so close to the floor. No, my problems were simply a result of my being a whiny bitch, and if I had a prayer of getting any sleep whatsoever before six o’clock came, I’d need to get over myself and mentally shut the hell up. And that’s precisely what I did…. About two and a half hours later.



    6:00 AM came and, along with it, the jangling of the harness attached to the walking allergen which guided my friend Tom to my location on the floor. After what felt like I’d just forgotten to open my eyes during a blink, the very last thing I needed was the hot wet tongue of Daisy the Seeing Eye Mop striping my face with her saliva. “Okay, okay, I’m up,” I said in response to Tom’s coaxing.



    “Good, cause we gotta get going soon,” Tom replied. “Decaf or Regular?”

    “Oh, dearest God,” I said as I sat up and rubbed my itchy eyes. “Just grind up the beans and give me a straw, I’ll snort it.”

    “Okay, sure,” Tom said chuckling. “But which kind, Decaf or Regular?”



    “Regular… Unless you have supercharged,” I replied. I removed my fingers from my eyes and looked into the kitchen to see a form moving as if in a strobe light. The blinking VCR clock only offered a slight glimpse of the activities in the kitchen. “You, uh… You need a hand with that?” I asked.

    “Nah, I got it,” Tom replied. “I’ve done it every morning for the past 30

    years with no trouble.”



    “Yeah, I hear ya,” I replied, cursing myself internally for being so patronizing of a fully grown adult who’d been blind his entire life. I tucked my legs underneath my butt and rose to my feet. “Thanks for thinking of leaving the coffee pot out, by the way.”



    “Well, I know you drink a lot of coffee,” he answered. “I figured you’d need some for this morning. Once we’re done, we can just put it in one of the boxes near the back of the truck.”



    I laughed. “Maybe the coffee pot will fill that last little void we have left in the truck,” I joked, referring to the fact that Tom’s belongings only filled about ten feet of the 26 we had at our disposal.




    He returned the laugh. “Yeah, I guess I shoulda thought before I rented that thing, huh?”




    “Well, I’ll offer again,” I answered, “If you want to save some money and swap your stuff over to a smaller truck, I don’t mind repacking everything.” I crossed my fingers and hoped that – this time – he’d finally say yes and release me from having to drive this massive beast of a vehicle up the interstate.




    “Nah,” he replied as I sighed. “It’s already done, let’s just use it.”



    “Well, alright,” I answered as I scanned the periodically illuminated room for an exit to the hallway. I could barely make out a darkened section of the room just to my right. With great caution, I stepped in that direction, forgetting momentarily where I’d placed my shoes the night before. I suddenly remembered, however, as my foot fell on the side of the sole of one of them and I quickly hit the floor.




    “Oh, are you okay?!?” I heard Tom exclaim.




    “Yeah…” I groaned. “I just tripped over my own feet.”



    He laughed. “It might help you to have a little light, huh?” He offered as I heard footsteps make their way over to the corner of the kitchen. With a brief flicker, the light in the kitchen came on and my world came into view. “Sorry, I forgot about that.”




    “It’s cool,” I replied, realizing at that moment just how stupid it was of me to not want to offend him by asking to turn on a lamp. “I’m just stupid… You know this.”




    “Yeah, but you’re kind, and that’s enough for me,” He answered.




    Kindness… Sure. That’s what did it. That’s what made me volunteer to help a blind man I’d known only a few months move up to Kentucky to take a far better job than the one we both worked at the Georgia State University computer lab. It was because I was kind… Yeah.




    I’m so kind, in fact, I was willing to ride MARTA to a station two miles from a U-Haul rental center, run the remainder of the distance, pick up a massive 26 foot truck, somehow navigate it to his place another ten miles away (with only four altercations with mailboxes and one with a road sign), back the moving truck into the driveway of a Handicap Accessable apartment complex and load it with all of his worldly possessions (which had to go down three flights of stairs).




    Kindness also made me sleep on that fur-lined floor, kindness made me jar both of my shoulder sockets when I threw my hands out in front of myself to pad my landing after my short trip over my own shoes, and kindness was about to make me drive to the bluegrass state and unload that truck for Tom. Pity? Nope. Had nothing to do with this situation at all. It was simply the fact that I was kind.





    I traipsed my kind ass down the hallway and into the bathroom, where I did the necessary and caught a quick shower. It didn’t take long at all to get ready, and by 6:30 AM, we were making the final check of the place and heading out the door. Daisy led us down the hallway and out of the building, where awaited us our dingy, old orange and white and steel-colored chariot. I hopped in the truck from the driver’s side and reached over to pop the lock on the passenger door so that Tom and the mutt could get in. Once situated, I cranked up the beast of a truck, backed out of the driveway VERY cautiously, and took off.





    “What’s that rattling?” Tom asked, looking in my direction without actually looking at me.



    “Rattling?” I asked. “I don’t hear any rattling…” Of course, with the engine rumbling as loud as it was, I couldn’t hear much of anything – including my own thoughts.




    “I hear a rattling… It sounds like it’s coming from behind us,” He replied, turning as if to look out the window at it. He swung his head back my way. “You should get out and check it.”




    “Hrm…” I said aloud, to indicate my reluctance to both believe him and stop this lumbering beast of a truck so that I might get out and look. Deciding that discretion was the better part of valor, I heaved to and brought the monster to a stop. I swung the door open, initiating a loud chime which was designed to indicate to me “Hey, dummy, your keys are still in the ignition,” but I ignored it, since that’s what I meant to do anyway. I trotted around to the back of the truck to find, much to my surprise, a large metal trash can pinned beneath the still extended lift gate on the back of the truck. With a shrug, I yanked it off and tossed it to the side of the road, then retracted the lift gate and headed back to the truck.




    “You were wrong,” I said, swinging my other leg up onto the seat and slamming the door shut, silencing that annoying chime. “It wasn’t a rattling.”



    “It wasn’t?” He asked.




    “Nah,” I replied as I shifted into drive. “It was more of a dragging sound.”

    “Oh,” He said with a chuckle. “What was causing it?”


    “Trash can,” I replied nonchalantly.


    “Oh,” he answered. “My complex’s?”


    “Dunno,” I replied. “Not your problem any more, is it?”


    He laughed. “Guess not.” Tom reached his left hand out and scruffed the fur of the large German Shepard situated between us. Sighing loudly, he settled into his bench seat as I carefully left his old neighborhood and a large part of his life behind us. “So, we’re off, huh?” he asked after a bit.


    “Not quite yet,” I answered. “We gotta stop at the gas station real fast.”


    “WHAT?!” he shouted, turning in my direction. “Those assholes… Dammit, why do people do this?”


    “Uh… Do what?”


    “Gyp the blind guy,” He replied, gnashing his teeth and shaking his fists in frustration. “They told me the tank would be full when I reserved the truck!”


    “Oh, it is,” I assured him. “To the top, it looks like.”


    He gave me a blank look, and before you say ANYTHING, I don’t mean that in any other way than to indicate that he looked at me as if he didn’t know what I was talking about. So shut it. “Why do we have to go to the gas station, then?” He asked.


    I smirked. “It’s 8 hours to Lexington, man… Gotta have road eats.”


    “Ahhhh,” He replied and nodded in agreement.


    “And THERE’S a Quiktrip – perfect!” I announced. I slowed the truck down to a near stop and turned the wheel to the right as the truck slid gingerly into the driveway. Despite the delicious spice I applied to getting into the driveway, I still managed to ram the truck into another trash can which sat just a little too far out from the pumps.


    “What was that?” Tom asked loudly.

    “Another trash can,” I answered flatly as I put the truck in reverse and backed away from the toppled receptacle.


    “Uh…” he said, “That’s 2 in less than 10 minutes. Are you SURE you can drive this thing all the way to Kentucky?”



    “No,” I replied, “Not sure at all. But I AM sure that you can’t, and that being the case, I guess we really don’t have much choice, eh?” I swung the truck hard to the right and inched forward, pulling alongside the curb on the side of the fueling area. Again, I popped the door open and summoned the friendly reminder that the keys weren’t on my person. “You want anything while I’m in here?” I asked as I hopped out.


    “Yeah, um…” he answered. “Get me a bag of Funyuns and a Pepsi.”


    Funyuns… Feh! And Pepsi… Double Feh! EVERYONE knows that Funyuns are a community swimming pool food. And Pepsi? Pepsi is for girls and people who simply like the taste of malted battery acid. No, it was very very clear that Tom had never been on a road trip. Proper road trip snacks consist of Combos (Pepperoni Pizza flavor, if available, but Nacho Cheese will work in a pinch), Cool Ranch Doritos, mini blueberry muffins, Gatorade, Cherry Coke with a pack of salted peanuts dumped in, and possibly a jumbo hot dog.



    Ten minutes and nearly 30 dollars later, I returned to the gigantic U-Haul truck and hopped into the cab. I fished out Tom’s foam-pressed onion-flavored snack and bottle o’ gross and handed them to him. “You understand that these things are NOT proper in this situation,” I replied.

    “What do you mean?”


    “Dude, you gotta have SUBSTANCE to your road snacks,” I answered, handing him my additions to his trip diet. “They gotta last you through the long haul, you know? So I got you some Combos and a Cherry Coke.”

    “Gah…” he replied, accepting my gifts. “I hate Combos, and I really hate

    Cherry Coke.”

    I sat there, dumbfounded. “Blasphemy,” I said, returning my face forward and shifting the truck into reverse. “Besides, you won’t hate THIS Cherry Coke.”

    “Oh?” he asked. “Why not?”

    “Cause I added a special touch to it,” I answered. “Go ahead, give it a try.”


    He unscrewed the cap and took a sip, and then promptly spit the entire contents of his mouth out and onto the windshield. “Dear God, what the hell is THAT?”

    “What?” I asked, shocked.

    “What did you do, dump a whole shaker of salt in this?” He asked as he screwed the cap back on.

    “Nah, that’s the peanuts,” I replied.

    He looked over at me. “That’s just gross,” He stated.

    “Man, whatever,” I answered, reaching out and taking the soda from him. “If you don’t like it, I’ll just drink it.” And as I took a big gulp from the delicious concoction, we made our way onto the interstate and finally hit the road.




    The disagreement about the Coke was pretty much a foreshadowing of the next two or so hours. It’s not that Tom and I fought about anything, it’s just that – given the difference in our ages, our upbringing, and our general outlook on things – there wasn’t really much we could relate on, with the notable exception of work. Specifically, the fact that our manager, Danny Christensen, was a total ****ing retard.

    “That kid,” Tom stated. “He’s what, 19? And he thinks he can push me around?”

    “Yeah, well, that’s what happens when you are in the same frat as the computer lab administrator, I guess,” I replied. “Besides, you’re out of there now… Off to bigger and better things, right?”

    “Yeah, and it’s about time,” He answered. “I spent a good bit of my life figuring out what it is I want to do, and I have to tell you, Joe… It feels great to finally find it, you know?”

    “I guess,” I replied. “I dunno. I guess I’m still in that place, you know?”

    He smiled. “Don’t sweat it,” He said, reaching over the dog that lay asleep between us and slapping my shoulder lazily. “You’re, what, 19?”

    “Almost 20,” I blurted out, almost involuntarily, as teenagers are apt to do at that age.

    Tom smiled at my youthful exuberance. “You have a good head on your shoulders,” he stated. “You’ll figure it out.”

    “Eh, I guess… Hey! The Tennessee border!” I shouted, raising my hand for a high five from Tom. We crossed the border and I felt no slap fall upon my palm. I looked over at him in disgust – how DARE he leave me hanging on a State Border High Five… Oh. Yeah. He can’t ****ING SEE MY HAND.

    “You… Uh… You need to stop?” I asked as I shyly returned my hand to the steering wheel.

    “Hmm… Yeah, actually I do,” He replied. “And I’m sure Daisy does as well.” He pointed his head toward the dog and uttered two words. “Daisy. Potty?”

    Daisy replied by placing her paw on his leg and wagging her tail. I’m assuming this was dog for “Yes, please stop so that I may evacuate my liquid and solid waste.” I suppose it could have also been dog for “I want to be a wolf when I grow up, you 210 lb slab of meat. I can’t wait to eat you.” But I’m not very versed in dog, so who knows. In either case, I went ahead and pulled into the Tennessee Welcome Center, home of a small culvert full of plaques and pictures of the Hillbilly State (Sorta strange for a state to pick that as it’s nickname… And even stranger that the title was written in Sharpie across a picture of the state capitol building – but hey, who am I to judge? Maybe that’s how they do it there). It was also home to a men’s room featuring a gigantic continually-running trough designed to accommodate multiple urinators in one fell swoop. Needless to say, this was the only thing that brought people to the welcome center.






    We did our business, and after we did, we allowed Daisy to do hers. This required Tom to lead her into an open grassy area, which meant I had to lead Tom to one as well. I can only imagine how it looked for two men to stand in a field of grass, one holding the other’s arm, while a dog squatted and dropped various forms of matter – both solid and liquid – around the field no less than 12 times.

    “Sometimes, she doesn’t get it all out in one squat,” Tom explained.

    “Or ten,” I replied.





    We hopped back in the U-Haul and kept on truckin’ (sorry, Mr. Crumb) up the interstate. It wasn’t long before Tom and Daisy decided to nestle in and catch a bit of shut-eye. This made me VERY jealous. Now I was left with NO music, NO conversation, NO distractions other than the monotonic hum of the engine and the wheels on the asphalt. Oh, yeah, and my Pepperoni Pizza flavored Combos.





    Oh, most glorious Combos… How I love to eat you… In fact, I might indulge in your tasty deliciousness right… this… mo… ****. My Combos were sitting in a grocery sack at Tom’s feet. Now, in a car, this wouldn’t have been a problem – the foot area of the passenger’s side of the vehicle is no more than 2.5 feet away (and I know this because I just walked out to my car, sat in the driver’s seat, and measured). In a U-Haul truck – a 26 footer, no less – this is NOT the case. The bench itself can be measured in yards, and nothing on the passenger’s side can be reached without the use of either the passenger’s arm or one of those FryGuy grabbers that used to come in a Happy Meal. Seeing as how I was currently lacking in the Happy Meal toy department and my passenger was asleep, I was pretty much out of luck.





    But oh, how wonderful it would be to suckle the salty outer crust of the Combo snack… To taste it’s saline delights as I place the snack between my teeth and press my tongue against the artificially-flavored pepperoni cheese-stuff center and push… Push… PUSH the middle out… And then, to flip the snack around 180 degrees with my tongue so that the column of flavorful stuffing lay there, hanging… Waiting for me to wrap my lips around the cracker crust and SUCK it right out… Oh, the pain… OH COMBOS, I must partake of your snacky yumminess!!!





    Filled with an undauntable determination, I placed my left hand on the bottom of the steering wheel and unbuckled my safety belt. I checked the condition of the roads through the windshield – a bit narrow due to some construction barriers along the left side emergency lane… But there was really no traffic. A few cars could be seen about 300 feet ahead of me, and a quick check of the side mirrors revealed only one vehicle far off in the distance behind me.





    Satisfied that conditions were acceptable, I leaned to my right and ducked below the view of the windshield, right arm extended in an effort to snag the grocery sack which contained the object of my forlorn desire. It was just beyond my reach. I sat back upright and checked conditions again… CRAP! I was drifting into the middle lane on the right! I KNEW I was over-correcting for the direction of the wheel! I steered back left to straighten my course, checked my surroundings again, and made another stab at the snacks.





    This time, I scooched to the right a little to extend my reach, leaving my left arm extended to reach the wheel. I bent over and reached down to grab the sack again, this time hooking the bottom corner of the bag with my index finger. “AHA!” I said aloud, proud of my accomplishments. I reached just a bit farther over to secure a better grip, and as I did, I became slightly aware of a humming outside of the vehicle. Since my awareness was admittedly slight, I didn’t really heed any caution signals that appeared in my brain, choosing instead to pour the entirety of my focus on getting my damn snack food.

    Bad choice.






    My stretching out to the right side of the truck to grab the Combos brought my left hand along with it just slightly, causing the steering wheel to turn just a bit to left. This in turn brought the wheels of the truck alongside the bottom base of the construction pillars that lined the road where the emergency lane should have been. It only took a few seconds of rubbing the rotating tires against the concrete of the pillars at 65 miles an hour for the rubber to heat to the point of popping, which it did on the two back tires.





    There was an incredible explosion just outside the truck, followed by another. The entire vehicle lurched to the left, and I rose just in time to witness our moving truck lurch to the left where the makeshift wall stood. Panicked, I turned the wheel hard to the right in an effort to get away from colliding and perhaps running right over the barrier. The U-Haul shot right. I screamed. Tom woke up. I slammed on the brakes. The truck began to tip over.





    With a deafening thud, the truck landed on its side and began sliding down the interstate. I couldn’t really see much, since I was laying with my back against the driver’s side door and my head in the floorboard. All I was really aware of was the fact that my body hurt quite a bit and there was a LOT of stuff on top of me – namely, a Seeing Eye dog and its master.





    We finally came to a stop. I called out to Tom, asking if he was alright.

    “I… I think so,” he replied. “What the hell just happ… OWWWW…”

    “What?!?” I cried out. “What is it?!?”

    “My leg… It’s…”

    “Oh, God!” I yelled as he screamed. “God, is it broken?”

    “NO!” He screamed through clenched teeth. “Leg Cramp!”

    Even though Tom was in a great deal of pain, I couldn’t help but sigh to myself in relief that I hadn’t broken him. However, my own body began to sieze up and throb as the pile of humanity grew to be too much of a strain.

    “Is there any way you can get out?” I asked him.

    “Well, it’s kinda tough,” He explained, “Seeing as how I’m BLIND and all..”

    I laughed. I shouldn’t have, but I did.

    “What, you find that funny?” He snapped.

    “Well, no, not that specifically,” I answered. “Just… the way you said it…”

    “Whatever,” He replied. “In any case, we’re stuck here, I think.”

    “No,” I stated, “I think we CAN get out. Just reach up and open the door.”

    “Up?!?” He yelled. “The door is UP?”

    “Yeah.”

    “Why is the door… UP?” He queried.

    “Well, that sorta happens when you… You know… Tip the truck,” I replied.

    He sighed. “You tipped the truck?”

    “Yeah.”

    “You TIPPED the TRUCK?” He asked with double the volume.

    “Yeah.”

    “The truck with all my stuff in it?” He asked with emphasis. “As in THIS truck?”

    “Um… Yeah. This would be the one.”

    “Oh ****,” he said suddenly, jerking his body in complete panic.

    “What?” I answered.

    “OH ****!” He cried out.

    “WHAT?!?” I said just as loudly.




    “Daisy! Where’s Daisy?!?” He began frantically calling her name and reaching his hands out to feel around. “Where is she? Is she okay?”




    I knew what had happened before we even had the chance to put 2 and 2 together. Daisy laid crushed on top of me and underneath Tom. It took a little while for the two of us to come to the ultimate conclusion, so I’ll go ahead and cut to the chase for you guys. She was dead.




    Tom sighed heavily. Then, he let out a bellowing “****!” which surprised the absolute hell out of me. I had no idea that amount of ‘****’ could fit in a guy his size... Nevertheless, it came pouring out of him like Kirk screaming “KAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHN!” Afterward, Tom began to cry.






    I was crushed. Well, yeah, of course I was crushed physically, but in this instance, I'm referring more to my emotional... Oh, forget it. Let's try again.




    I was completely devastated. I just tipped over a moving truck full of

    someone else’s possessions and, in the process, killed his assistance animal. And for what? Combos. Tasty, delicious, Combos, which now I cannot eat to save my freakin’ life.




    It took forever (at least it FELT like forever) for the police and rescue crews to arrive. When they did, they checked us over and made sure we were alright. Tom came out physically unscathed, but harboring deep emotional scars. I ended up with a broken wrist (which is NO surprise, given that I’d broken my right wrist twice before that and four times since), some bumps and bruises, and a food-associated guilt complex which has lasted with me to this day.





    The amazing thing, though, is the fact that, out of all of Tom’s possessions, there were only a few broken things – a lamp (which he didn’t need) and the television (which I offered to replace, but didn’t have to, thanks to the insurance rider on the credit card Tom used to rent the truck. Let this be a lesson to you kids – make sure you’re covered when you rent a vehicle!!) were the biggest things, followed by a few CD cases and a pierced painting he picked up in a yard sale just to add a little color to his apartment when sighted guests dropped by. Still, I killed his dog, and that’s a tough thing to get over – even if it IS covered under insurance.






    The police were kind enough to drop us off at a small diner in a town called Jellico, just before the Kentucky border. We called the U-Haul people and told them where they could find the bent and broken truck, a local wrecker service’s lot. They were kind enough to agree to deliver to us a small, 10 foot truck so that we could head over to the truck graveyard and get Tom’s crap.





    “Maybe I should drive?” Tom said, only half joking, as I led him to the passenger door of the new truck.

    What do you say to that? “No, I got it, Tom,” was all I could come up with. “This one is much smaller… Like driving a pickup truck with a camper on the back.”

    “Not that I would know,” He replied. Ouch.




    Jabs just like that one were what I endured the entire night and all day the next day, even while loading his stuff into the back of the new truck. It didn’t matter that I was the only one doing any lifting or work. No, I killed his dog, and that’s a very tough thing to get over…




    We were circling the block around his new apartment complex, looking for a place to park the mini U-Haul. “****… I can’t see anywhere to put this thing,” I stated.



    “Me either,” he said, pouting. Yeah, it was yet ANOTHER jab, one of at least 45 I’d heard that day. But hey… I killed his dog, and that’s a very tough thing to… No.



    “No,” I stated unequivocally as I slammed on the brakes and brought the truck to a sudden stop.

    “No, what?” He asked.





    I turned to face him. “No, I’m not putting up with any more of your ****, that’s what,” I answered. He started to reply, but I stopped him. “Look, I know I ****ed up. I made a huge mistake. I shouldn’t have gotten that close to the barrier wall,” I admitted, leaving out the part about how I ended up that close in the first place. I didn’t want to say it, and he didn’t have to know. “I shouldn’t have jerked the wheel. I shouldn’t have slammed on the brakes. But I did – and a bad thing happened as a result.”




    He sat silent. I took a breath, then continued. “Now, we managed to make it here in one piece – And yes, I know your dog didn’t, but WE DID, and that’s something to be thankful for. And your stuff!” I exclaimed, pointing with my thumb behind us for nobody’s benefit but my own, “Your stuff made it mostly in tact. Your insurance is covering everything. You’ll get a new assistance animal.” I sighed and placed my hand on his shoulder. “I… I’m sorry I ****ed up, okay? I really am.”




    Tom ducked his head. I felt his body spasm as he inhaled sharply and emitted the telltale sounds of a man crying. “I… I miss her,” He said, and broke down.





    “Aww, man…” I said, feeling like a total ****. I reached an arm out and placed it around him, and he turned to bury his face in my shoulder, but was caught by the safety belt. Quickly, he reached down and unbuckled it, then continued forward and allowed me to hug him as he cried for a little while.




    It only took a few hours for us to get Tom’s stuff moved into his place – a first floor apartment, thank God – and by sunset, we were munching on some thick crust from the local Pizza Hut. We had come to terms with what happened, and he forgave me for my part in it – even after I admitted to him how it was the truck’s tires came so close to the concrete barrier. Still, even with his forgiveness, I can’t eat those ****ing Combo snacks. I want to, oh do I ever want to… But something inside stops me. I came real close to eating one once on a road trip to King’s Dominion, several years later. I had the snack between my teeth… I had pushed all the goo in the middle out and was just about to twirl it around with my tongue when Andrea stopped fast to avoid a car which cut her off, sending the half cracker, half cheese product snack into the back of my throat. I coughed hard and the saliva covered treat flew out and hit the windshield, and ever since then, I’ve just given up. I still drink Cherry Coke with peanuts in it, though. And I don’t’ care if I tip over a bus full of Nuns and Angel Fish - Ain’t nobody takin’ that away from me. [/font]
     
  2. google

    google 1/2 ton status

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    True story of you or where did it come from?
     
  3. Grieby54

    Grieby54 1/2 ton status

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    That's kinda sad... poor dog. But wow, that guy can write!
     
  4. darkshadow

    darkshadow 1 ton status

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  5. google

    google 1/2 ton status

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    I was thinking the same thing. It's such a bad story and should have been boring, but it was written so well, I couldn't stop reading.
     

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