chikinhammr

Last Sunday I had a dandy of a time in Las Vegas at a Nascar Craftsman Truck Series race. I had a little spare time and I was passing thru Vegas so I coughed up fifty bucks for a ticket and a garage pass. I love motor sports. I loved the smell of the gasoline and the burning rubber. I had a few over priced beers and watched a great race and ate over priced hot dogs. I took about 500 pictures and I didn't even get beaten up by the drunks who threatened to kick my ass when I caught them pissing on my trailer tire in the parking lot after the race. I'm not sure if they were scared of me or just nervous about the 14 inch aluminum flashlight I kept banging on the side of the trailer as I approached the dumbfucks. Not a ringing endorsement of the Nascar crowd, eh? There were about 70,000 folks there so I'm thinking it was dumb luck that I encountered a few small-bladdered retards on the outskirts of a several hundred acre, dimly lit parking lot. My trailer shaded the glare from the closest light pole and provided a nice shadow between my trailer and another truck parked next to me. Must've been pretty tempting for pea-brained passers-by. Two ladies embarassed themselves betwixt the trailers, but I just watched them. Yelling at girls is brash and impolite. Besides, one of them had a really nice can. Amazing what one can see in the course of an hour in Las Vegas. Final Score: Drunks 6, Chaz 2 (2 assholes actually ASKED if they could piss on my tire and I said: "Most certainly not, sir!" or "Fuck off douche nozzle!" I can't remember.)

Tonight, I'm West of Chicago, stopping for the night in a urine-scented truck stop. (*what's with this guy and piss?*)

I miss my chick.

I'm enroute to Andover, Mass, hauling a load of paperboard to some factory or other there in stodgy New England. Having taken my pants off for the evening, I'm feeling much better, enlightened even. My day began in the pre-dawn hours in Fargo, North Dakota. A fully sugared Mountain Dew my fuel of choice. My truck prefers Ultra Low Sulfur Diesel (aka ULSD.)

I felt pretty sultry and irritated for much of the day. I found myself shouting irrationally at the AM radio. I flipped the bird at two different motorists whom I deemed to be exhibiting poor driving skills, though I displayed my stink digit in a way so as to not actually be seen by the objects of my discontent. Road rage is stupid. Flipping the bird is dumb. Provoking a response from a pinhead is not fulfilling anyway.

I stopped at a nice little diner I've been to before in Clearwater, MN and had a proper breakfast. It's called Nelson Brothers. I had a delicious plate of Apple fritter-bread French toast paired with wild rice sausage. My powers of description fail me but to say this: "Fucking tasty!" After allowing my blood sugar to come down a notch or two, I wandered into the Carhartt clothing store adjacent to the diner and bought myself a heavy work/winter jacket for a decently priced $80. Then I pet my dog and made her pee. (*Jesus H.!*)

What's the deal with the dead kittens?

In the last few months I have noted, much to my chagrin, the presence of dozens of dead juvenile cats scattered along the highways of at least 12 different states, in different regions of the country. About every other week on average I've spied an innocent dead kitten, obviously having been tossed out the window of a moving vehicle. I've never witnessed the crime, only the evidence. Let me say that I am disturbed by the lack of humanity that presents itself in this manner. The thugs, cretins, buffoons or whomever is doing this (and I suspect it is more than just one individual) deserves to be beaten mercilessly to death with a lenght of steel pipe. My gut reaction would be to run someone doing this off the road and into a telephone pole, then stop, make sure their legs were well and duly fractured then set their vehicle alight with a can of gasoline and a cigar match. Alas, I am trying to be a man of peace. God help this planet.