11-30-2008, 06:53 AM
Day after day, month after month, it always happens. It manifests itself in different ways, from debilitating blindness in my right eye, to being crushed by the transmission from my brother's truck. The entire world shits on me.
Right now, as of 2:45 central standard time, I am stranded in some podunk town called Schulenberg, Texas. The transmission on my dad's van decided to say, "fuck y'all, I quit." And quit, right there on Interstate 10.
After a nervewracking limp to a gas station, and two bottles of Automatic Transmission Fluid later, still nothing. Third gear is completely shot. The engine bay stinks of burnt clutches, eminating from General Motor's "Venerable" Turbo-Hydramatic TH700-R4. We can't limp it home, for fear of the transmission COMPLETELY grenading, and leaving us as unwilling permanent residents of this Hellhole.
To add icing to this shitcake, we called everyone and anyone we knew, trying to get SOME form of help. Nothing.
My Aunt even had the balls to say "She wasn't going to save us anymore". When did she save us last? Where was I for this mythical act of kindness? It was her idea for us to drive to San Antonio in the first place! SHE FUCKING INSISTED ON IT.
To make matters worse, I have my smelly, overactive, hyperactive German Shepherd in here with us, and his bouncing around is further adding to my stress and aggrivation.
80 miles from home, with 10 bucks left. I am officially up Shit Creek without a paddle. I'm one more bad thing away from walking over to I-10 and stepping in front of an oncoming semi. I don't think I can take anymore of life's shit.
Right now, as of 2:45 central standard time, I am stranded in some podunk town called Schulenberg, Texas. The transmission on my dad's van decided to say, "fuck y'all, I quit." And quit, right there on Interstate 10.
After a nervewracking limp to a gas station, and two bottles of Automatic Transmission Fluid later, still nothing. Third gear is completely shot. The engine bay stinks of burnt clutches, eminating from General Motor's "Venerable" Turbo-Hydramatic TH700-R4. We can't limp it home, for fear of the transmission COMPLETELY grenading, and leaving us as unwilling permanent residents of this Hellhole.
To add icing to this shitcake, we called everyone and anyone we knew, trying to get SOME form of help. Nothing.
My Aunt even had the balls to say "She wasn't going to save us anymore". When did she save us last? Where was I for this mythical act of kindness? It was her idea for us to drive to San Antonio in the first place! SHE FUCKING INSISTED ON IT.
To make matters worse, I have my smelly, overactive, hyperactive German Shepherd in here with us, and his bouncing around is further adding to my stress and aggrivation.
80 miles from home, with 10 bucks left. I am officially up Shit Creek without a paddle. I'm one more bad thing away from walking over to I-10 and stepping in front of an oncoming semi. I don't think I can take anymore of life's shit.
The last mutt standing.
The one and only, Cowboy from Hell.
******
Bury me with my guns on,
So when I reach the other side,
I can show him what it feels like to die.
I can show him what it feels like to die.
Bury me with my guns on,
So when I'm cast out of the skies,
I can shoot the Devil right between the eyes.
