Let the record show that you have not lived until you've traveled to Oklahoma, 10 hours going and 10 hours coming, trapped in a 2016 GMC Acadia (crimson red, with dark cashmere leather seats), with Farmer H and The Pony. Only slightly more unpleasant would be traveling from Illinois to California with Clark Griswold, taking the tribe cross-country in the Family Truckster (for a few miles with deceased Aunt Edna strapped to the roof) to visit Wally World.
The methane expelled by my two travel companions would no doubt have powered the family A-Cad for at least a quarter of the trip, had we only possessed the technology to convert from our gasoline engine. They did not even make a pretense of blaming each other. "Nope! That was mine!" Almost as if an award (possibly a LEG LAMP) would be bestowed upon the biggest stinker at the end of the trip.
On the way back, barely three hours into the drive, we stopped for sustenance for both ourselves and A-Cad, at a truckstop McDonalds. Two double cheeseburger meals were split among the three of us, choosing to consume our meal on the road rather than eat up precious time sitting in the "restaurant." I find it hard to type that word in regards to McDonalds.
Looking back, I saw that The Pony had put his fries between his legs. ON MY DARK CASHMERE LEATHER SEAT! No siree, Bob! That was not happening on MY watch!
"Pony! At least put something down to catch the salt and greasy crumbs that fall out of the fry box! Here. Pony. Um...put this napkin between you legs. Heh, heh. I never thought I'd be saying THAT to you."
The Pony complied, with a snort. He strapped on the ol' feedbag and was finished with his meal before Farmer H and I had even cracked open a cheeseburger each. Of course, I had to wait until Farmer H was fed, him trying to argue with the Garmin over the route, and drive with one eye, and feed himself with one hand. At least I propped up his fries with a napkin already underneath, and unwrapped his cheeseburger so that half was still encased in the paper. No ketchup drips on MY dark cashmere interior!
I was in between picking up Farmer H's fry box and preparing his burger when I glanced back at The Pony. He had a guilty look on his face, and he was peering between his legs.
"What! Did you spill fries on my leather seat?"
"Nooo..."
"Why are you looking down? Are ya poopin'?"
Farmer H must insert himself into any interaction he overhears. To show his superiority. His control of the situation. To make sure everyone knows he's the king of the castle. The arbiter of the Acadia. Even if it means taking his eye off the road, to turn and give Mrs. Hillbilly Mom the stinkeye.
"You are SO rude and crude!"
Said the Fart King.
5 comments:
Didn't The Pony get a cheeseburger?
The Fart King speaks! I have a fairly new tenant here. She is separated from her husband who is at least 10 years younger than her and she is the manager of the local McDonalds. She is quite happy in the her "damsel in distress" role and has managed to make requests of all of the men in the park and alienate the wives. She calls herself the "general manager" of McDonalds. The delusional woman is a store manager, nothing more, nothing less. And, if she keeps calling MY husband on his cell, she will most likely find herself to be the "Homeless General Manager" od McDonalds!!
I think maybe McDonalds was the trigger for my rant!
fishducky,
Of course! The Pony had a whole value meal to himself. TWO cheeseburgers. That's his favorite McDonald's meal.
Farmer H had the soda, the fries, and one cheeseburger of the other value meal, and I had a cheeseburger. That's because I've been cutting back, you know, and didn't want much, and even though I DID want some of Farmer H's Diet Coke, I couldn't because then we'd have to stop too soon for a bathroom break.
****
Kathy,
While we're doggin' McDonald's...I don't like their Diet Coke. It's watery, and tastes like they spilled a cleaning product in it. My mom used to LOVE it, and would make a trip there special, just to get a Diet Coke. Well...that, and three of their grilled onion burgers, to put two in the freezer for a later day!
This was a hilarious post. The Pony is flatulent in cars? Maybe we'd better change our plans (just kidding). The part where they were "claiming" the fart, and Farmer H calling YOU rude and crude--both of those parts made me laugh out loud.
Sioux,
Maybe he'll try to hold it in. But you know, he really doesn't care about people, or what they think of him!
I am shocked, Madam, that you did not jump on the title song reference! Absence makes the brain grow weaker, I fear.
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