Thursday, October 20, 2011

It's Not A Road Trip Until Someone Is Hysterically Crying For Hours Pt.2

Remember yesterday when I posted about how my vacation started off so fucking terrible that I spent a majority of it crying in a hotel lobby, our vehicle, a grocery store parking lot that we later had to attempt to sleep in? Yeah, I totally remember it, and I still want to punch it in the face and sleep with it's mother out of revenge. I left off with how I believed we were probably going to freeze to death or be stabbed by marauding homeless people but fortunately all we had to show for those two hours of sleep was the paw prints on our faces from where the dog figured it was the perfect time to perfect his elaborate circus act of balancing on people's faces while they tried to sleep. I don't know why he needs to practise because he's a fucking natural at it.

Let me tell you, it's hard work sleeping in a grocery store parking lot because there are lots of lights and it's a parking lot next to the highway and did I mention that even though I am just a teeny bit taller than a dwarf even I found the vehicle cramped. The Pilot? Yeah, he's easily over six feet and he had to curl up on the back in attempts to stretch out. It also didn't help that while I was sleeping I may or may not have kicked the keys in the ignition and it turned the whole car on with a blaring radio screeching white noise at us as if it was personally offended that we were sleeping in a vehicle like animals and not in a hotel bed like people.

From that point we decided "Fuck it, we might have had only two hours of sleep in the past day so what's our next logical step? CONTINUE THE ROAD TRIP!" and after slapping each other in the face half a dozen times in a game of "Let's see who is awake the most" we started to drive to Jasper. I lost that game, so I was the one who had to drive. And I drove, and drove, and drove and drove until I reached the National Park and decided that it's probably not a good thing to be imagining five extra sets of roads in front of me because it's confusing and one would probably lead me to our death. Or a violent gang of Mountain Sheep. So I did what was only natural and starting slapping The Pilot awake in attempts to switch spots and when he feebly fought me off like a five year old I decided it was probably best to pull into the truck stops along the way and try to sleep again.

That lasted for an hour until we almost got side swiped by a Semi-Truck that had pulled into the truck stop too wide as if he was personally offended that an SUV was sitting in a Semi-Truck stop and figured the only solution was to murder us in our sleep. It was only when I threatened to start hysterically cry again did The Pilot take the drivers seat. I tell you, hysterical crying will get you anything.

You see, if we were just going to my parents place the drive would have been over once we started again in a mere five hours and we could have found a blissful sleep awaiting us but because we were going to Womb Mate's, well...we still had another ten hours to go because God hates us and wants us dead. Like, super dead. As it just so happens we have to drive through my parents town anyways and my loving, spiteful parents thought it was an awesome idea that we should pick up my Little Brother on our way through so we can at least attend some type of school and pretend to learn something that day. Before we got there, we switched driving and while I was behind the wheel I kept trying to get The Pilot to use my phone to text my bother to give him an update of when to ditch school to meet us. Despite my best efforts The Pilot would only send polite, abridged versions of what I wanted texted so my Little Brother would not know what I truly thought of him and the fact that he was probably most likely adopted from homeless street urchins. The Pilot has shitty dictation skills, is all I'm saying.

By the time we grab my Little Brother The Pilot is complaining over the fact that he's literally starving too death right next to me and we probably should get him some food and I turn to my Little Brother and tell him "We are taking you to lunch not because we like you but because you just happen to be here with us. AWESOME TO SEE YOU AGAIN!" and we head off to lunch. And we eat. In a shitty diner. Who's bathroom probably gave everyone AIDS because they were disgusting.

And then we started our drive. And let me tell you, by this point I was getting near delirious because of the lack of sleep but The Pilot was worse off then I was and my Little Brother fails at life because he doesn't have his learners so he couldn't even drive for us.

And you know what makes total sense while driving with very little sleep and having a sixteen year old Little Brother in the back seat that is now forced to listen to you for the next six hours? Imitating banjo music in every conversation.

"How was school *banjo music noise*"
"Oh it was great...*interrupted by banjo music noise*"
"Will you stop...*interrupted by banjo music noise*"

The Pilot, who was trying to sleep, couldn't really sleep because his girlfriend had just finally snapped and was willingly destroying the population of the vehicle with epic banjo renditions.

And then the truck in front of us decided to throw a kink in my whole plan and totally fucked everything up for a short period of time. It kicked up a stick or a dead rabbit body or something that got flung at us and it almost caused me to swerve off the road but my awesomely delayed ninja fast reflexes prevented us from crashing.

But if The Pilot was to tell you exactly how it happened while he was trying to sleep it would have going a little something like this:

Me: "BANJO MUSIC BANJO MUSIC I TOTALLY WANT A BANJO! BANJO MUSIC BANJO MUSIC----- HOLY FUCK WHAT IS THAT?" Vehicle swerve, vehicle swerve, vehicle swerve, fast recovery save by awesome girlfriend.

Since I saved our lives, we were able to continue with our normal program and I slowly progressed from imitating banjo music to terrible singing of every single road sign I could find. Until the road signs started creeping me out because they started getting prophetic. If I called my Little Brother awesomely hilarious names such as "Penis Mouth" and "Anus Eyes'' a sign would suddenly turn up that would proclaim "God Judges You By The Words You Say To Others" and since it was already determined that God hates us and wants us to die, that was a little off putting. And when the topic of drugs were brought up a sign came up that said "DRUG DEALERS NOT WELCOME HERE" and it's like rude, drug dealers are people too. Who just happen to deal drugs. And destroy today's youth. But they are people.

And when sign singing got boring? I used my Little Brother as my personal Secretary and had him text things to my little sister that basically went a long the lines of "Little Brother likes dinks in his mouth" or "Little Brother wants to move to Dink Town USA" and when we were asked about our location I had him text "DINK TOWN USA BABY!"

So, basically it what I am saying is that Little Brother has far superior dictating skills then The Pilot ever will have.


  1. 1) Kudos on the mad ninja skills! A little fine tuning and they will only be slightly less delayed!

    2) Dinky little brothers only know how to dictate stuff properly when their sleep-craved older sisters are currently in control of their life when driving the car. All other times they are just little dinks with bodies attached. (I know this because I am a little brother)

  2. Your life is like National Lampoon's vacation. You do know this, right?


I once punched a baby kitten and then it died of cancer. The punch might have given it cancer. Comment or I'll punch you in the baby-maker.

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