Road Trip Journal: July 12
We drove on toward Maine and our friends summer camp. We drove with the wind in our hair and hand on our balls. About midway up the Vermont coastline, we hit a snag o'traffic.
"Dude, let me put on 'Whats New Pussycat?" again?"
"No."
"Whyyyy not!?"
"Because you have played it nonstop since we started this trip and if you play it again I swear I will put a bee up your eurethra."
"Well played, Bonertron."
"Stop calling me that. Hey, there's an offramp. Nick, you wanna stop for some food?"
"Do not call me by my slave name*. From now on, I will only responed to Mufatta."
"You're a moron. Do you want to stop or not?"
"Yea. Messa' Hungy!"
We stopped in at a small place called "Pete's Eats". It had a certain homey charm to it. However, Nick didn't find the country charm to his liking.
"Dude, this sub tastes like its been in Petes rectum!"
"Keep your voice down."
"Why? everyone should be warned."
Nick then motioned his hand across the air, as he said a pretend headline
"So come to Pete's Eats, if you like the taste of rectum!"
We were soon asked to leave. We pressed on and since I foolishly let Nick hold the money, we had to sleep in the volvo because Nick spent a great deal of our money playing Ms. Pac-Man in the Kwik-E-Mart across the way from Pete's Eats. As nightfall set in I was in a bitter mood.
"Dude, high fucking score. The taste of victory is sweet."
"You spent 140 dollars, anyone would have a high score playing with that many lives. Lets just go to bed."
"You're just jealous because you arent tasting victory right now. All you can taste is failure. Bitter, gaseous failure."
A high pitched squeal then came from what i thought was Nick's mouth
"Oh what the fuck! For someone who bitched about the food, you smell like you ate everything in the goddamn place."
"That's not my ass. thats failure. you stink of it."
Hopefully tomorrow will bring better luck...
*I regret, deeply, buying Malcom X's Autobiography on tape and listening to it with Nick
She had Nick at go.
