Automatic Ball Return
No, before you ask, this post has nothing to do with that, or rather those. Except for the obvious fact of the matter that they’ll by default accompany me home today, being attached to me and shit as they are. Which is how I prefer the situation, given the alternatives.
What this post has everything to do with is me flying home. Again. I mentioned earlier this week that I was on the second of three American Tour trips, and as-of today I get to return to Kansas for my weekend beer break. Yes, I do normally refrain from drinking entirely while on the road, mainly because the price of beer in restaurants is marked up in a fucking criminal way (considering it’s Coors Light we’re talking about here). The other, smaller reason is, I don’t know any of the local cops when I travel, so those embarrassing beer-related events are more difficult to talk my way out of.
This post is also a pretty lame attempt at generating my one-per-day when there is absolutely nothing of interest inside my head to blog about after a week of relentless Army business. I feel like a used Wet Wipe (white, square, somewhat moist, cloying fresh scent but smeared with shit nonetheless). It occurred to me that I was sort of like a human pinball, shot out regularly to interesting places with bright lights and pretty colors, where I bounce around and spin, ultimately to wind up back in my starting point, while the big, Green Army Hand pulls the spring plunger back for another round. Pretty shit-hot metaphor there, I’d say, coming from a used Wet Wipe, and therefore the title.
That metaphor, in spite of it’s awesomeness, is wearily true. I get to haul my ass onto an airplane again next week for the third of three week-long trips that will conclude my 2011 American Tour. In the meantime, as mentioned, I get the weekend to re-lower the levels of blood in my beer stream and enjoy one of the two religious holidays of my typical year. More on that shit tomorrow morning, but your hint right now is “football.”
This post started out as a list of things I hate most for people to say to me when I’m folded up into my Oompa Loompa-sized airplane seat. I managed to come up with this:
“Are you reading that?” – Asked when I have my ranty nose buried firmly into by book du jour.
I’ve never really understood what compels some people to interrupt those of us who are literate while reading. Perhaps it’s jealousy over the ability to take meaning from the funny black squiggles on the paper, I don’t really know. This didn’t happen to me last week, so I figure I’m due for a dose of karma today.
Bonus Round. High Score.