You Know You Want It

I have a 15 minute drive home from work, each night. It's always eventful. Here is my textual & pictorial explanation of tonights excursion:

First stop sign: I wait behind another car so that I can turn while wondering wtf is taking so long. I honk the horn. I see the driver do an irritated 'talk to the hand' movement. Knowing sign language too, I raise my middle finger, obvious sign language for 'I'm number one'. I then bother to look to the left and notice the oncoming semi-truck.

Oh. Umm yeah, don't try to shoot the gap for me, Grandma.

As I leave town, I notice the license plates on the car in front of me.

I think (talk) to myself: Does that hooker realize that license plates are forever? Unless you want to pony up $125.00 or your first born, you keep those mofo's until you die. What happens when Krissy leaves Asshole? Hm? She may as well have gotten his name tattoo'd on her butt cheeks, it would have been cheaper. I hope her next boyfriends name starts with an 'A' too. Dumbass.

As I was turning the corner onto my road, I had to dodge the piece of mobile home siding. Can someone please get out of their fucking vehicle and clean up after themselves? Jim Bo? Bubba? Anyone?

Finally, I get to my house. I was (tail-gating) following a minivan. Apparently, Soccer Mom's Mapquest took a huge shit at that exact moment because she whips a U-turn in my drive-way.


This is what I looked like:


I say a little prayer to JC (remember, he's not a cuss word, people) for getting me home safely & dash into my house. Make my way to our bedroom. Crawl in bed. Possibly horny. (It happens twice a year wether I want it to or not.) And upon this happening, I remember that Big Daddy worked 13 hours today.



The end.