mynutsitch.com

A few weeks ago a car-full of girls in their late teens (I think…it’s really damn hard to tell sometimes) pulled up next to me at a red light and were waving, giggling, saying “hi” and just generally being retarded teenage girls. I just smiled and sort of half-waved, not sure exactly how to react.

Have I ever mentioned I’m socially retarded?

Well that’s probably partly why, but I think mostly I was confused because there were young girls giggling and trying to get my attention. Ones that were pretty cute (assuming they were 18…if they weren’t, then…well, they were still cute. Yeah, I said it. Sue me.)

That’s not a very common event for a guy who looks like he’s the bastard child of a freaky sexual encounter between Chris Farley, Robin Williams and Vin Diesel.

Given that, I couldn’t help but wonder if maybe something else was going on. Like a midget bodybuilder was doing squat thrusts in my back seat, or my testicles got slung over my shoulder again or something.

(Hey, I’ve only repeatedly said I have a small penis. My testicles are so large they have their own social security cards and, on more than one occasion, I have woken up on a cold morning wrapped up in my yambag, having at some point during the night mistaken it for my comforter.)

Then I realized that teenage girls just haven’t quite come to the realization yet that a guy driving a bright yellow Mustang is probably compensating for something.

Only after I pulled away did it cross my mind that I may have been able to attempt to teach them that life lesson.

What made me remember that story is what happened on Saturday on my way home from my dad’s house in Vancouver, WA. Vancouver, or Vantucky as we sometimes call it here in Portland, is basically a haven for the rednecks that were too trashy to be comfortable in Portland but not quite trashy enough to head east to Portland’s armpit, Gresham.

So my dad called me because he was having some computer problems, which is pretty much the only time I hear from him unless it’s a holiday. I used to be mad at him but at this point I just kinda feel sorry for him. His 3rd wife just left him, he’s a raging alcoholic who in recent years I don’t think I’ve ever seen without a beer in his hand, he’s had some health problems lately which his drinking and chain smoking probably aren’t exactly helping, and he’s in a dead end low paying job that, with his wife and her income now gone, probably means that he can’t keep his house and will likely need to file bankruptcy.

It’s just sad. He’s not a dumb guy, yet all of the problems I mentioned are things that he could fix if he put his mind to it. It wouldn’t be easy, but what in life is? It looks like he’s just resigned himself to sitting there, drinking and smoking himself to death, feeling sorry for himself and wanting others to do the same.

Sorry, got sidetracked there for a minute…back to the story.

After I left my dad’s house I stopped to grab a burger real quick before I ran some errands. I pulled up to the drive-thru window and this….lady (?)…handed me my burger and drink and said “Nice car!”

I just said “Thanks” as I hit the gas and got out of there.

Sound familiar? Yep, I did it again. This time for an entirely different reason.

You must have forgotten that I was still in Vantucky.

If I were blind and had gone by voice alone, I would have thought that George Burns had been revived and had donned the coveted headset for Burgerville #342. But if I were blind it is not likely that I would have been driving, so unfortunately I had the pleasure of viewing her as well.

Ever seen one of those “Faces of Meth” things?

Yeah, well she was about 2 open sores and a facial tick shy of being the “after” picture.

I have a feeling the $200 she earned that week was going to fund the fuel behind a violent rampage through one of the nearby trailer parks, leaving the confused victims in her wake with nothing to do except gather the NASCAR t-shirts and Budweiser hats that are strewn all over the patchy grass, last year’s Christmas tree, and the 6 rusted out barbeques next to the car on blocks.

Also making the fact that I was indeed not blind quite unfortunate was the way she was eye-fucking me. And my car. You know what I’m talking about…the completely obvious, tipping the shades down to the tip of the nose and lustily examining every inch from top to bottom action. Yeah…she looked me up and down and then it was my car’s turn…back to front, and then back again.

Now, being the spitting image of the bastard child of the aforementioned trio, I can’t really afford to be terribly picky when it comes to romantic opportunities. However, after approximately .329 nanoseconds of contemplating the scenario I decided I had no desire for a threesome with her and my car, so I left.

The whole encounter caused my testicles to retract so far into my body that I’m pretty sure that, if I had sneezed at that moment, they would have came (no pun intended) flopping out of my nostrils, bouncing off my chin like I was a congressional page.

If I don’t see them again within the next couple days I might need to start putting up flyers.