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I can't believe I forgot to write about the New Jersey Turnpike. It was, after all, the single place in which I spent the most time during our New Yawk weekend. First, we invented a new game on the way up there on Friday night. The Samurai is a somewhat, erm, apoplectic driver. He's easily annoyed behind the wheel. As he uttered colorful phrases during the drive, I attached them to the vehicles involved and tried to refer to each vehicle by name when we encountered it again. (I think this kept Lance Strongbear amused.) For example, the Samurai is cut off by a slow-moving Bronco. "Sonofab**ch!" he cries. The next time we see the Bronco, he is "Sonofab**ch." Most of these elegantly labeled vehicles drifted quickly out of our orbit, the Turnpike being a busy place, but GodblessAmerica was still with us in Hoboken. And we went through the entire Lincoln Tunnel with Sh**head. (He had a niiice ride, too. One of my penis-bearing companions could tell you what it was. All I remember is that it was white.) The Turnpike was even better coming home, because of Asshat. We ended up in a colossal traffic jam after getting back on the Turnpike. At one point, the Samurai was talking with Corby on the cell phone, and finding out how far the gridlock extended. Lance and I noticed a red van in front of us containing an unrestrained child, who was gamboling merrily around while his adult companions ignored him. We growled about child restraint laws, and where's-a-cop-when-you-need-one, as the kid flipped feet first over the seat. We ended up halted behind the red van, watching the boy. He was maybe four years old, a skinny fellow in a striped shirt, with dark hair, enormous dark eyes, and pert features. He was busily chewing on the handle of a wire coat hanger, making me shudder. After a bit, he started waving and clowning for the drivers around him. We waved back, charmed by his cuteness. To further entertain us, he found a pull-up (one of those diapers that work like underwear) and began trying to get it on his head. When we exited for gas, he had the entire bright-greeen pull-up on his head, and was making funny faces through the leg hole. Hence the name Lance gave him: Asshat. I really hope sweet little Asshat makes it to adulthood. Kids like that really must reproduce! Must go walk Casey; he won't go out unless he's touching my leg. Makes it hard to walk. He's going to the vet for blood work later today. Poor traumatized Wonder Borkita. |
 
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Asshat