Last night I saw Jesus. Or maybe Elvis...I'm not exactly sure.
Yesterday Lori and I hopped out of bed at the crack of 7 a.m. Okay...maybe Lori hopped. I laid there while she made coffee and brought it back to the bedroom and reminded me to wake up, and then eventually walked out of the room...probably in disgust. I was still laying there, crying on the inside, at 7:30, when she came back and reminded me more emphatically to get up. I flailed and thrashed and whined a little, but eventually snivelled my way to the kitchen for 15 or 20 more cups of coffee.
We had yet another long drive ahead for yet another eBay truck. But lest you think this is becoming an addiction, I'd like to say in my defense that this truck was both a) drivable, and b) bought with the intention of harvesting it's organs. If this truck wakes up in a bathtub full of ice with a note on it's hood and it's transmission missing, call 911.
So we headed for, of course, Indiana, where all things eBay come from. Except for our brief dalliance with Nebraska, my romance with Indiana eBayers has been steadfast. The truck was about 350 miles away, between Muncie and Fort Wayne, but that was fine. 350 miles is nothing to us. It's a stroll in the park, a trip to the store. Hell, we can do 350 miles without ever leaving the county if we try.
But since it was 350 miles each way, I was anxious to get started. We lit out of here at 8:30 in the morning and arrived at our destination at 3 pm. The truck was just as ugly as all the other sub-$500 eBay trucks are, but it started right up and sounded good. We had popped the hood, and the guy was showing us all the things that had recently been replaced, when Lori noticed that there was a fairly large amount of fluid dripping onto the ground. She pointed it out to our seller, and he said, "Shit! It's the fuel pump!"
He got on his phone, called his brother, and told him to run over to AutoZone and buy a replacement. Those nice Hoosier boys replaced the fuel pump and a significant amount of fuel line in an hour and we were on our way home. The truck did great; the engine ran strong, the shifting was smooth, the tires were good...I was pleased.
I keep waiting for eBay to break my heart, but so far eBay has been far less of a disappointment than, say...my last couple of girlfriends. And eBay doesn't keep your shit after the breakup or call to tell you what an asshole you are and how much happier it is with the girl it dumped you for.
Not that that's ever happened to me.
Anyway...once again, the trip home went slick as a whistle, except that we didn't get started for home until about 5pm, and we were pretty tired by the time we got to Effingham at about 10 o'clock, with 100 miles to go.
Stay with me; this is where Jesus and Elvis come in...
I headed south, driving down I-57 with my brain turned down low to conserve power, when I came up behind a flatbed truck. I glanced up at the back of the truck and saw Jesus. This is no lie. No self-respecting atheist would make this kind of embarrassing crap up. It was Jesus, bigger'n hell, standing there looking all Jesus-y.
Jesus was way up in the front of the flatbed, wearing a white robe with his arms outstretched, silently imploring me to do...something. Be a better person. Go to church. Give up this sinful life of illicit carnal congress with persons of my own genital persuasion. Something.
But after a second look, I realized it was actually Elvis! The King himself, in a white jumpsuit with his white silk scarf billowing around his many chins.
Yay! The sexual congress is back on! No church, no struggling to curb my drinking and whoring and embark on a path of righteousness. Elvis was all about sin and excess!
God saw me in my brand new 1988 Ford Ranger with the rusted hood and the mismatched tailgate. He reached in and sent me a message via his second tragic, doomed son...Elvis. A message to enjoy more booze and sex, to decorate with animal prints, eat more junk food and worship my mama.
I felt a warm glow. I finally understood God's mysterious plan for me. I sped up a little, in case Elvis had anything else to tell me from The Other Side. Spiritual guidance, recipes...I didn't care. It's all good. I thought about throwing my truck keys at his feet, or my bra, or the Big Gulp I was drinking.
But when I got close enough to Elvis to clearly see his divine countenance, I realized he was a tarp stretched over a spool and held mostly in place with straps, except for the part flapping like a scarf, or the sleeve of a heavenly robe.
Well, crap.
So I'm still up in the air about the Divine Plan. For now, I'm going to assume it means God wants me to get new glasses and go see the neurologist. The Lord does indeed work in mysterious ways.
Yesterday Lori and I hopped out of bed at the crack of 7 a.m. Okay...maybe Lori hopped. I laid there while she made coffee and brought it back to the bedroom and reminded me to wake up, and then eventually walked out of the room...probably in disgust. I was still laying there, crying on the inside, at 7:30, when she came back and reminded me more emphatically to get up. I flailed and thrashed and whined a little, but eventually snivelled my way to the kitchen for 15 or 20 more cups of coffee.
We had yet another long drive ahead for yet another eBay truck. But lest you think this is becoming an addiction, I'd like to say in my defense that this truck was both a) drivable, and b) bought with the intention of harvesting it's organs. If this truck wakes up in a bathtub full of ice with a note on it's hood and it's transmission missing, call 911.
So we headed for, of course, Indiana, where all things eBay come from. Except for our brief dalliance with Nebraska, my romance with Indiana eBayers has been steadfast. The truck was about 350 miles away, between Muncie and Fort Wayne, but that was fine. 350 miles is nothing to us. It's a stroll in the park, a trip to the store. Hell, we can do 350 miles without ever leaving the county if we try.
But since it was 350 miles each way, I was anxious to get started. We lit out of here at 8:30 in the morning and arrived at our destination at 3 pm. The truck was just as ugly as all the other sub-$500 eBay trucks are, but it started right up and sounded good. We had popped the hood, and the guy was showing us all the things that had recently been replaced, when Lori noticed that there was a fairly large amount of fluid dripping onto the ground. She pointed it out to our seller, and he said, "Shit! It's the fuel pump!"
He got on his phone, called his brother, and told him to run over to AutoZone and buy a replacement. Those nice Hoosier boys replaced the fuel pump and a significant amount of fuel line in an hour and we were on our way home. The truck did great; the engine ran strong, the shifting was smooth, the tires were good...I was pleased.
I keep waiting for eBay to break my heart, but so far eBay has been far less of a disappointment than, say...my last couple of girlfriends. And eBay doesn't keep your shit after the breakup or call to tell you what an asshole you are and how much happier it is with the girl it dumped you for.
Not that that's ever happened to me.
Anyway...once again, the trip home went slick as a whistle, except that we didn't get started for home until about 5pm, and we were pretty tired by the time we got to Effingham at about 10 o'clock, with 100 miles to go.
Stay with me; this is where Jesus and Elvis come in...
I headed south, driving down I-57 with my brain turned down low to conserve power, when I came up behind a flatbed truck. I glanced up at the back of the truck and saw Jesus. This is no lie. No self-respecting atheist would make this kind of embarrassing crap up. It was Jesus, bigger'n hell, standing there looking all Jesus-y.
Jesus was way up in the front of the flatbed, wearing a white robe with his arms outstretched, silently imploring me to do...something. Be a better person. Go to church. Give up this sinful life of illicit carnal congress with persons of my own genital persuasion. Something.
But after a second look, I realized it was actually Elvis! The King himself, in a white jumpsuit with his white silk scarf billowing around his many chins.
Yay! The sexual congress is back on! No church, no struggling to curb my drinking and whoring and embark on a path of righteousness. Elvis was all about sin and excess!
God saw me in my brand new 1988 Ford Ranger with the rusted hood and the mismatched tailgate. He reached in and sent me a message via his second tragic, doomed son...Elvis. A message to enjoy more booze and sex, to decorate with animal prints, eat more junk food and worship my mama.
I felt a warm glow. I finally understood God's mysterious plan for me. I sped up a little, in case Elvis had anything else to tell me from The Other Side. Spiritual guidance, recipes...I didn't care. It's all good. I thought about throwing my truck keys at his feet, or my bra, or the Big Gulp I was drinking.
But when I got close enough to Elvis to clearly see his divine countenance, I realized he was a tarp stretched over a spool and held mostly in place with straps, except for the part flapping like a scarf, or the sleeve of a heavenly robe.
Well, crap.
So I'm still up in the air about the Divine Plan. For now, I'm going to assume it means God wants me to get new glasses and go see the neurologist. The Lord does indeed work in mysterious ways.
3 comments:
See why I love car trips with Ev? They may be long, they may be hot, they may take us to destinations that aren't on my list of dreamn destinations (we don't, for instance, ever drive to Ireland or Australia) but they are never dull. And she says she has no imagination. Pffft.
:)
Kwach
This is the funniest story I have ever read. Ever. Every damn part of it.
I am going to hell, I laughed at this.
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