Classic Cars and Inbreds

Community tradition is a big deal in my little town in the middle of nowhere. It's a time when all the under-educated mill workers change out of their Carharts and shake the sawdust from their hair, when the rednecks and backwood inbreds make their way off the set of Deliverance and rejoin society for a bit of good old fashion entertainment.

Since before I was born a Classic Car Show would take place every year in the middle of July. I grew up watching the old cars cruise downtown, while running out into the street to pick up candy the riders would throw out the windows. This was before the days of razor blades in laffy taffy, hypodermic needles filled with AIDS in caramel apples, and cyanide-laced packages of pixy stix.

Last weekend was the Annual Classic Car Show and the entire 24 thousand members of my pathetic community packed up their blankets, folding chairs, and ice-chests full of piss beer, and claimed their spots on the sidewalk to watch the festivities.

The entire 5 block section of downtown is blocked off during The Cruise to provide ample room for overpriced restored classics to show off their new chrome grills, neon under lights, NOS injections, and spinners. Seems to me they have completely missed the point of a classic, as you would have never seen those shenanigans in the 50's.

I happen to live in the downtown area, and was slightly concerned I wouldn't be allowed to drive to work during The Cruise due to road closure, but was assured by an officer on duty near my house that they would allow me through.

15 minutes before my shift I hopped in our old truck and set off for work. Now, I have been warned several times, by several different people that there is something seriously wrong with our truck, but have never had the time, or the money to do anything about it. So we do our best to keep her running, but know its only a matter of time before she dies.

I proceeded with caution as I drove through the Cruise. I tried my best to keep a low profile as I stuck out like a sore thumb between a 53' Oldsmobile Rocket and a 57' Chevrolet Bel Air.

And then it happened. The spark plugs flipped me the bird as they laid down for a nap, the transmission went on vacation with the starter, and the alternator was strung out on smack.

So there I sat, in the middle of the road. Broke down, in front of my entire community, the local news crew, a SWAT team circling ahead in a government chopper, and Jesus descending from the heavens. And there I sat for what seemed like days, with horns honking all around me, and hicks throwing empty beer cans, while an officer gently suggested that I get the fuck out of the road.

I turned the key....And nothing.

"You're ruining the show!!"

I turned the key again....nothing.

"Your truck sucks!!!"

I turned the key, said a silent prayer.....and she finally started.

"Your mother was a whore!!"

Ok, I'll admit that I was ruining the show, and my truck really does suck, but the last comment was completely unnecessary, so as I hit the gas as hard as I could, I leaned out the window and yelled...

"Yah, well your mother is your sister, you stupid inbred bastard..."




...I love this town