Today on the way home I followed a "monster truck" down Ocean Boulevard. This thing was seventy thousand dollars worth of small penis compensation. Not only did he have the five-foot-tall tires and body lift kit (requiring a ladder which unfurled when the doors opened); the thing was powered by a full-scale cummins diesel with twin three inch smoke stacks towering up behind the cab.
As I followed, I couldn't help but notice the purple tailgate emblazened with the obligitory airbrushed fantasy girl. Painting the fantasy girl on the ole tailgate is a sure way to safegaurd against ever having an actual girlfriend ride up front on the bench seat.
I patiently followed as the humongous "offroader" whined through the gears up Ocean Boulevard. I pondered the price of diesel fuel and how much the trip to Myrtle Beach cost this guy. I marveled, as I sat at the Main Street stoplight, how big the tires on that thing were; how deep the tread was - obviously designed for traction in deep mud and other treacherous terrain. The owner of this vehicle was prepaired for any circumstance, from quicksand to a line of abandoned cars that needed crushing.
About this time I was startled as the big trucked swerved violently into the oncoming lane as we passed the Ashworth. My lightning-quick reflexes prepared for whatever calamity lay ahead. Was it a downed motorcyclist? a wayward child wondering into traffic? What was it that the monster truck left its lane to avoid?
A gravel patch where the road had been repaired.
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