Four months in the world of Commercial Driving loosely interpreted using characters from the 1987 classic ‘Over The Top.’
Part I: Over the Top
and Into the Ditch
“How much longer do we have to go on like this, sir?”
Your eyes, against your will’s better judgment of prolonged sleep, confront the morning rays pouring into the truck’s cab head on. There is no equal playing field here. That searing yellow ball – nature’s unforgiving alarm clock – comes charging forward towards unadjusted eyes with little mercy.
Like a rusty bear trap the lids rip open, tearing through the crust and tears. They’ve finished their shift – the bastards were blessed with the easy one – and now made way for the day crew: Two pupils screaming like newborn babies “Put us back in!”
Everything’s coming into focus now; a television channel you can’t seem to switch. This Is Your Life – airing seven days a week and available for viewing whenever conscious. The channel had been shut off for the past six hours and the dog squirming for release made keeping the show at bay for even a few more hours impossible.
A spirited Basset Hound was our third traveling cohort in this submarine on wheels and a dear friend to my father. Won in an arm wrestling match seven years ago while traveling near Chugwater, Wyoming, this constant companion acted as the anchor to this ship’s operation. The loud mouthed, ever present canine prevented this whole gig from flying off its heated wheels and heading out into the atmosphere like a flaming bullet.
If the sun wasn’t enough, his cohort in sleep thieving antics was readily available every morning at five a.m. to help finish the job. That dependable yellow orb in the sky had set up the dominos and it was the basset’s whine which began knocking them all down.
“He’s going to wake Lincoln up, dear god please, not this early.”
Father and canine resided in the sleeper, another amenity obtained from a late night arm wrestling match; somewhere near Alamogordo, New Mexico, I think. It had doubled the Freightliner’s living space and expanded it into the area of six by six feet. Three people living for months at a time in an area comprised of thirty six square feet; my place being sprawled out in the front cab resting atop the driver’s seat, an old ice cooler and a converted doggy lair which had at one time been the passenger’s place of residence.
“Lincoln’s up. The sun and the dog strike again. Sorry boys, the day shift is inevitable.”
I picked the dog hair from my mouth and dusted off my shirt for nothing more than my own sense of sanity. These hairs weren’t going to come off, hell, far as I was concerned they were permanently ingrained, but that didn’t stop me from continuing to try. Every morning I tried to look presentable before heading into the truck stop. Why? God knows. A cast of characters assembled from ‘The Garbage Pail Kids’ movie no doubt waited to great me upon arrival yet I still wished to look like something that hadn’t been scraped off the side of the road in a bloated heap. More for myself than them, I guess. I couldn’t dwell on it but who was I kidding? The same sweat stained clothes plastered upon my body for days at a time, hair which looked like it had been attacked by a ravenous pack of Flowbee’s and drool coated across my cheeks. From a visual standpoint, getting rid of the dog hair off of my t-shirt was like attempting to dust off a turd.
Part II: Piss Jugs and Puny
Arms
“I’m thirsty, I’ll have a drink from this bottle – no! Remember, that’s the stinky juice.”
Feast your eyes upon an innocent bottle of Gatorade. Silhouetted, many claim the brand’s 32 oz. plastic container resembles the tip of a male reproductive organ. While filling a bottle which used to hold your Lemonade flavor with a liquid very similar to the one you just drank, you can’t help but to think the silhouette legend is actually subversive advertising at its finest. They claim their drink to be the ultimate thirst quencher; what you’ll never know is their bottle also acts as the ultimate bodily fluid reliever. Stout, durable and with a leak proof twist on cap, your Gatorade is more than happy to become the mini urinal on the go. A word of advice: draining the dink while in motion is an act better performed by the seasoned few. The battle scarred roads of I-5 on your way to Los Angeles are liable to make even the sturdiest handed bottle filler spray his contents throughout the cab with little remorse. The trucking life is a cruel mistress and she shows no mercy for your suffering bladder; you learn the Gatorade filling ropes or you strap yourself into a fancy pair of adult diapers.
“I step inside the truck stop and the crowd sizes me up, arm wrestling me with their enthusiastic eyes.”
I had covered up my untidy bundle of disheveled hair with a baseball cap before heading in, never stopping to realize it was the hat’s logo stopping them in their tracks to point, gawk and stare. Lincoln Hawke Trucking, LLC. My lineage had become my curse and wearing my namesake like a crown hammered the nail of inescapability further into my fragile brain.
Blazing a white hot trail of success all throughout the mid to late 1980’s in the form of arm wrestling competition, my father had forearm flexed his way into the hearts and minds of truck stop denizens all throughout the North American territories, in the process branding me with a namesake I could never hope to live up to – backwards baseball cap or not.
We had both yearned for the day I could wear the sweat dried Lincoln hat with pride; bicep busting and wrist whipping my way to the very top of the sport and beyond. Fate, cut from the same cruel stock as Sunbeams and bellowing Basset Hounds, had decided it wasn’t in my cards. My father’s forearms held a Royal Flush; mine looked more like a disorganized hand consisting of a pair of 2’s, an Uno card and four dollars in Monopoly money. I had stepped up to the god’s of arm wrestling and they had snapped my feeble bones in half; no better way of alerting me to the fact that their prideful game of masculinity was forever out of reach.
On the other end of the spectrum was my father, Lincoln Hawke. A prodigy powered by chart failing 80’s pop songs and single armed bicep curls while traveling cross country in a sleeperless big rig he had looked even the hairiest backed arm wrestling foes in the eyes and laughed. At one point in time he was considered a backwards baseball cap wearing god, but fate showed no favoritism and sadly my father’s time had passed him by.
Forearm flexors stretched beyond capacity, biceps past the point of bursting and a foolhardy resolve which constantly left his wrists in a crumpled heap when challenging the young lions; my father had reduced himself to a sideshow attraction for a new generation of arm jockeys.
“Come see Lincoln Hawke and his son, Noodle Arms; relics existing in the time capsule of Reganomics alongside My Buddy dolls, Pee Wee’s (pre-pornography bust) Playhouse and Philip Michael Thomas’ dream of EGOT (Emmy, Grammy, Oscar, Tony).”
In A&E’s devotion to providing it’s loyal fanbase with an ever growing selection of cutting edge material they’ve gone far and wide to invistigate the depths of society in order to obtain new and striking material to fill their selection of hard hitting and fact based shows. When first stumbling on the subject at hand it was originally placed in the stations flagship star ‘Dog The Bounty Hunters’ hand, a job which required his immediate travel to Las Vegas in order locate the perpetrator in question.A&E, upon receiving a series of entrail filled buckets marked ‘Dog’ were than forced to send another respected journalist investigator on the case.
Enter Bill Curtis.
Not willing to end up reduced to a crimson colored pile of pig food like his unfortunate channel sharing, mullet haired compatriot before him, Bill went about this dangerous case with a more cerebral approach, doing the one thing he knew best, handing the case off to his team of writers to investigate so he may later put his name on whatever they may come up with and claim it as his own.
The subject in question? Wanderlei Silva.
The team was puzzled. How did we not hear of this 5’11″ compacted bundle of unbridled monstrosity sooner? Simple. Much like Jude Law before him,this Axe Murdering monster was a United States Import who had already left a long line of unfortunate victims behind him before being unleashed on an unsuspecting American audience, replacing Law’s smarmy arrogance with pure undiluted violence.
The tireless research team worked vigorously, inching closer in an attempt to discover the origins of this monster who walked among us. Tipped off by an anonymous lead, the team traced his humble beginnings back to Caritiba, Brazil. Like a group of curious aliens observing Danny DeVito and Rhea Perlman attempting to have sex, what they found shocked them.
Seemingly this Wanderlei Silva was the result of famed scientist Seth Brundle sending an unfortunate Brazilian and his ferocious junkyard pit-bull through his gene splicing telepod in an act of ultimate animal cruelty.In a related case which sprung up shortly thereafter which had the team researching for possible similarities, Football player Michael Vick had reportedly greased his ass with bitches-in-heat-spray, letting a small herd of American Terriers take turns sending their red rocket’s airborne into the black ass end of space. Later, when being questioned by Bill Curtis’ investigative crew if he had attempted his own version of Human-Dog splicing as Brundle had accomplished before he replied with a simple “Human-Dog splicing what?” It turns out he was not so much a scientific gene-splicer as he was a man following PETA’s advise in an ultimate attempt at redemption.
Shortly after Wanderlei’s birth by telepod Jeff Goldblum sought his own redemption. In an act devised to never allow such a monstrosity as the one he had created into this world again,Jeff went insane, destroying his life’s work and vowing never to let the public by subjected to either another Wanderlei or Jurassic Park II: The Lost World. Saved for a short lived T.V. show, Jeff faded into obscurity, forever haunted by unleashing ‘The Axe Murderer‘ onto the world. Sadly, we may never be blessed by a follow-up to his star making turn as ‘Mac’ in ‘Earth Girls Are Easy.’
Goldblum’s monster evolved into something far worse then he could have ever imagined. An untamed fighting machine who was quickly imported and unleashed on the unsuspecting Japanese public by way of their popular combat sports organization ‘Pride Fighting Championship,’ Wanderlei’s reign of carnage in the land of the rising sun would soon become a thing of lore. The Japanese had for years searched for a successor to their famed nuclear reptile, a monstrous lizard who leveled cities with little moral regard. In Wanderlei Silva they found the same uncontrolled rage shrunk down onto a five foot, eleven inch frame but no less destructive.There was little time wasted before they began pitting The Axe Murderer up against all comers, the result were a beast so scary that if not for his opponents to fight in the ring one would assume he would begin attacking himself, the outcome which would most likely look similar to Brundle’s unfortunate experiment involving his insides-on-the-outsides orangutan friend.
Of the many violent weapons at his disposal, surprisingly the most intimidating was his strategy before the fight had even yet to begin. Like a Great White shark moments before the attack, Wanderlei’s stare down has become a thing of legend, like the X-Men’s Cyclops before him, Wanderlei was soon required by law to wear doctor prescribed shades in all places public for fear of mass panic.
Prior to his October 2000 match up with Gilbert Yvel, while walking down the streets of Tokyo the Axe Murderers glare alone netted him the misfortune of being charged thirteen times in the Japanese legal court systems for ‘attempted vision rape,’ an isolated incident no mortal man has thus far been able to replicate. A devout fan of The Axe Murderer, actor David Spadehas repeatedly attempted to emulate that fateful vision-raping occasion but to no avail, although on many occasions getting pretty damn close. It is unclear at this moment whether or not Wanderlei’s five year old son ‘Thor,’ who most have fittingly nicknamed ‘The Lil’ Hatchet Murderer’ has acquired these abilities although time will tell.
In Wandy’s (A nicknamed most have given him in an effort to soften his image. The result is akin to putting an adorable PetsMart doggy sweater on Stephen King’s title character from the book Cujo.)repertoire were a collection of weapons he stored (which when not in use was often raided from his cutlery drawer by Michael Meyers and Jason Vorhees ) including:
Gorilla Hooks.His bread and butter method of attack. Eyes closed, head down and arms swinging he came at you like an enraged overweight child who had just received word he’d be shipped to fat camp. This blitzkrieg was the set-up shot, which opened up three distant possibilities.
Knees. As a child locked in the basement, Wanderlei would look on through the dusty window below and watch outside as Goldblum’s landscaper Jeff Fahey (When not working for the next door neighbor Pierce Brosnon on his cutting edge Virtual Reality devices) would accomplish an array of tasks.One fateful morning Silva peered on as Fahey used a jackhammer to renovate some loose asphalt. The image of a horribly hair-dyed landscaper in overalls using this weapon of destruction was ingrained forever in the young Murderer’s mind and he has since tried his best to accurately replicate the tool on his victims faces.Most famous of these victims were Quinton ‘Rampage’ Jackson, who has went on record numerous times telling of his hatred for 1992′s The Lawnmower Man and the ensuing effects it had on Wanderlei.
Soccer Kicks. A finishing move set up by Gorilla Hooks in which The Axe Murderer punts the heads of his victims as souvenirs for guests in attendance.This is likely where he got his reputation of being ‘fan friendly.’
Foot Stomps. The Axe Murderer’s Fatality move, in which the feared Brazilian attempts to make fine wine out of his victims face.
The steadfast research team, fueled by Mountain Dew and a commitment to watch ‘Sneakers’ at least once daily to keep spirits lifted moved on, turned their journalist page’s next to Chapter II: Wanderlei’s Violence.
In order to fully comprehend their adversary at hand Bill Curtis’ crackpot team of sleuths next step was watching The Axe Murderer in action. Unlike Dahmer, Gacey and Bundy before him, Wandy’s crime’s had each been painstakingly shot and edited with descriptive color commentary to boot. The men of American Justice put in a tape which lasted less than one minute, a short span of time which they would remember forever and shake them all to their core.
The tape in question was the 2008 match-up between Wanderlei Silva and Keith Jardine which occurred in The Axe Murderer’s adopted city of Las Vegas, Nevada and took place within the Mixed Martial Arts organization the Ultimate Fighting Championship. By now the team was well aware of the criminal, but what of his bald headed, goateed victim?It turns out Keith Jardine, whom one of the researchers found was at one time tapped to play the rocky road loving antagonist ‘Sloth’ in the never materialized prequel to 1986′s Goonies, was no boyscout himself. ‘The Dean Of Mean,’ a nickname someone had given him in an obvious attempt to prolong his virginity for at least ten more years, was a brawler much like Wanderlei who had similarly been brought through a faulty gene-splicing telepod. This brought forth the terrifying moment of realization that had the researchers concluding Jeff Goldblum was likely alive and well, isolating himself in The Lost World and christening himself the successor to Brando’s bloated, Twinkie wrapper filled throne.
The team now knew Wanderlei was going in against a skull crusher much like himself, and in a thought which brought about memories of the 60′s classic ‘Destroy All Monsters,’ the group of researchers mind’s raced at the thought of two, gigantic rubber faced beasts colliding with one another. The tape was put in, and the play button was pushed.
In an eerie scene which many the producers of the HBO series ‘Oz’ have threatened to sue over copyright infringement, it took exactly thirty six seconds for Wandy to take the small remaining fragment of manhood from Jardine ( Much of it had jumped ship immediately prior to naming himself ‘The Dean of Mean’ ) cut it off, drive a considerable distance away and throw the tiny, limp portion of it into a nearby field. It was an act of soul stealing carnage which brought on a wave of post traumatic stress for an attending John Bobbit who was seated live in the audience. Looking with an observent eye when viewing the quick lived brawl you can actually see Jardine unwittingly reenact the Israelite robe wearing Belloq as he pears into the Wanderlei Ark one moment before having his face exploded like a Gallager Watermelon.
Reportedly sitting at home watching the fight himself, Harrison Ford screamed to his girlfriend and former Ally McBeal star tocover her eyes in the small chance Wandy’s uncontrollable power shot out like the hammer of god, punishing all those who dared question his power. A lengthy finger pointing session ensued later that week as the former ‘Star Wars’ star warned UFC president Dana White of the villainy Wanderlei possessed.
“Axe Murdering Brazilians. I hate these guys.”
Jodie Foster has since demanded that any aspiring actress looking to take on the titular character in the remake of her Oscar winning 1988 performance in The Accused take a look at Keith’s role in the match up between himself and The Axe Murderer. Much like her role as Sarah Tobias in the aforementioned film, Jardine looked to want it, and he sure as hell ended up getting it. The ‘Dean Of Mean’ has since admitted that his scraggly, goateed asshole clenches up involuntarily whenever his UFC 84 rapist opponents name is brought up in conversation.
Upon studying this disturbing reel of destructive, Axe Murdering violence the team of researchers had hit an investigative brick wall. What could they possibly due to stop this destructive force of nature, a man who took his childhood idol the Tasmanian Devil and role-played him to life with a passionate ferocity making Furries the world round envious of his commitment and dedication to the craft.
Before long a crack in the case had been found. Looking into Wanderlei’s upcoming fight schedule the team was quick to learn of a match up between himself and the cocky fighter ‘Michael Bisping,’ another import with an attitude similar to his arrogant British cohort Jude Law. ” It’s perfect! ”The team was quick to exclaim in unison. Researching Bisping further the team learned he proclaimed himself a ‘knockout’ artist, someone who was not afraid to stand and bang with the feared Brazilian lab experiment. Could this be Godzilla’s Mothra, an otherwise unassuming beast with the power to slay Brundle’s greatest creation?
With beaming smiles they patted each other on the back and the words ‘Job well done’ were thrown about by various members to one another; the long journey was finally over. The team of researchers hastily made their way back to Bill. The team entered Mr. Curtis’ office and fought back their giddy, school boy enthusiasm. ” Well, gentlemen? ” Bill Curtis proclaimed as he rose from his desk, eying the men stoically. ” Mr. Curtis, another American Justice file closed. Wanderlei will soon be slain and the American ally who accomplished the task will soon after find himself flying to England, greeted like a King. ” The statement was met was silence. Bill nodded his head and furrowed his brow, putting a quick eye on all his researchers involved. ”England? You’re speaking of Michael Bisping, correct? ” Looking to each other and smiling the men quickly resumed position, directing their attention back on the American Justice host. ” Yes Mr. Curtis. We believe Michael Bisping will be able to stop what Jeff Goldblum and his cursed telepod started. ” The acclaimed investigative entertainer braced his hands on the arms of his chair and sat himself back down. ” Gentlemen, I’m blown away. I can with all honesty say that I am truly blown away. ” The men tried in vain to hide their grins which threatened to outstretch the faces which housed them. Before they had a reply, Bill was quick to follow up. ” I think A&E would agree with me that American Justice can no longer contain a group of individuals such as yourselves. In fact, I am making a phone call to the executives of this station post haste. Starting tomorrow I, and I’m sure my superiors will be quick to agree, want you to show up in production house three. Congratulations, gentlemen. ”
The men left Mr. Curtis’ office and their emotions soared. No longer nestled under the wing of the American Justice stalwart, it was time for this crew to spread their wings and fly. They eagerly anticipated the upcoming work week. Small Town Justice Files? The Jeff Goldblum Diaries? So many options, what direction could Mr. Curtis have recommended their flagship show follow?
Bright and early the crackpot team show up to set and were met by the veteran actor and star of their new show.
The job climate has changed rapidly in the past few years and likewise, so has the means of finding such employment. Gone are the days of walking in, handing your resume and letting your future boss take a small glimpse at your personality as an aid in their search to find the perfect candidate for the position in question. Today, that method is an ancient memory. In this day and age of short attention spans, giant corporations and the incoming flux of recently unemployed who seek new means of income through different careers we have been reduced to the online job application in an effort to speed up the process. Gentlemen, let the bitching begin.
After Miles Dyson became a suicidal martyr which set back his breakthrough computer research by dozens of years in an effort to stop the impeding doomsday prophesied by a young waitress, technology continued at its normal, steady pace. ( Long exhale and a quick wipe of the brow. That was close! ) Not so fast. Unsatisfied and in an effort to bring Cyberdyne systems back to the forefront of applied science we as a society have done away with the traditional Gort’s, C3P0′s and Johnny 5′s of the job application processes to make way for a new, scarier model. If the online job application were walking down the street naked in the middle of the night and you found yourself in the unfortunate role of Bill Paxton; promptly begin pissing your pants and revealing the tiny, pathetic size of your dick now. It wouldn’t be long until he was digging his meat club sized hands like a spoon into a juicy piece of cantaloupe in an effort to pull out your still beating heart. “Fuck you. Asshole. ”
At the core of the online job assessment are the hundreds of questions thrown your way in order to get a good idea of who you are to the company you look to for employment. They range from a wide variety of topics such as ‘Will you steal?’ to ‘Will you let other c0-workers steal?’ and so forth.
If anything they are a good glimpse into how modern American businesses view the bulk of their prospective company representatives. When beginning the test two polarizing figures begin to take shape rather quickly. The Model Employee and the sexually confused, goth-rock loving homicidal maniac with his cock n’ balls tucked between his legs.Sadly, and much to Buffalo Bills dismay, there is no question asking where the lotion goes in order to refrain from getting the hose again. To put it bluntly, if I had the choice of being locked in a room full of people answering the wrong end of these questioners or the cast of George Romero’s Dawn Of The Dead I would happily enter into the zombie’s blue toned undead arms after a long tanning bed session with apple in mouth and food stuffing in ass.
Wait, they can’t be that bad, can they? Let’s take small look at a few of the questions in…er, question, shall we?
People cannot be trusted, because eventually they let you down. Ah yes, the Ed Gein defense. They may not be able to be trusted, but they make great lampshades and designer snuggies!
Your moods shift dramatically from one direction to the next.This is actually true. I’m a happy, motivated individual when I begin and by the end due to the bizarre nature of the questions I wonder if I’m applying for a job or as a guest on the set of ‘One Flew Over The Cuckoo’s Nest.’
Sometimes I get really mad, and I don’t know why.They left out the part where it said ‘And then after blacking out I wake up naked covered in my fellow employees entrails with a prostate that feels like it got in a fistfight.
You look back and feel bad about things you’ve done.And the people you’ve buried under the basement.
You don’t believe a lot of what people say. Simple things, like ‘Don’t J-Walk, respect the elderly and refrain from pouring acid into the back of incapacitated peoples heads in order to try and start your army of zombie sex slaves.’
You are a very private person.Yes, I love privates! In fact, I have a whole rotting refrigerator full of them.
So what conclusion have we come to thus far? Well, seeing as you’re taking the test in solitude with no supervision to determine even the slightest amount of truth it’s easy to say whether you’re Jeffrey Dahmer looking for his next meal or an honest job searching citizen you’re going to get the position. Unless of course you’re an honest job searching citizen. Did your modesty prevent you from answering ‘excellent’ on all questions regarding your mental, physical and communication attributes? Sorry, this job only recruits the best of the best, the most ‘excellent’ of all candidates. Welcome aboard, John Wayne Gacy.
So you’ve submitted your first application and have been passed over by a homicidal clown. You’re down but not out. ” I’ll show them dammit, even if I have to play by their rules. ” Bingo. Stage one is complete and soon you’ll be marching alongside Donald Sutherland; index finger pointed in air and mouth agape, signaling in a wretched scream the location of all who haven’t yet been body snatched.
So now they’ve begun to take hold, their cold wart ridden fingers gripping your soft, living flesh and stuffing you head first into their witches pot; melting down your body into goo and pouring it into their mold of mediocrity. It’s bad enough marching in single file towards the personality glue factory, a cruel fate comprised of taking any glimmer of individuality and stripping it down, humiliating it through spraying it with a hose and laughing at its cold, naked body.Are you ready for the next step? Wait, they’re not finished. As a final act of beating your fading attempt at uniqueness six feet under throw in pointing and smirking towards its shriveled, frightened member for good measure before finally tossing it into the Jack LaLanne industrial grade personality juicer. Moments later it will be drank up by an employer with the emotional range of Christopher Lambert and the same singular philosophy. In the age of mindless, soulless armies of prospective work force employee’s when it comes to charisma there can truly be “only one.”
So what is the one personality to rule them all? Let’s put this in perspective. If this graduate of the personality glue factory was given the task of directing 2008′s ‘The Day The Earth Stood Still’ he would’ve asked Keanu Reeve’s to tone down the emotions a notch. Can you hear that? It’s the sound of a heart rate monitor flat lining. Don’t fret, it happened twice on the set of The Matrix. In fact, he was declared legally dead for half of ‘Something’s Gotta Give’ and here he is, alive and well; an example all alumnus of the soul stripping machine aspire to one day emulate. When Don Johnson sang of looking for a heartbeat in his hit 1986 tune, unbeknown to most it was regarding a future GNC employee trained at the university of Johnny Utah. Sadly, he hasn’t stopped singing.
Surprisingly you’re not deterred. You did it once before and you’ll do it again. What’s a couple 150 question online psychological profiles, anyway? A great opportunity for your long dormant hemorrhoids to be re-introduced to Preparation-H, that’s what. On average most job sites let you know that the ‘profile evaluation’ segment will take between 60-90 minutes, depending on the user. Six job applications later and even with half a bucket of lube shoved up your ass those fuckers are exploding like face huggers from their hatching pods. Somewhere in the depths of syndication hell Paul Reiser is smiling.
A series of long, harrowing journeys through multiple application processes which bring to mind an online Lament Configuration cube and you’re finally finished.You have experienced the pain and now, after Pinhead and his band of Cenobite minions have finished ripping out the frayed ends of your sanity using fish-hooks disguised as a half dozen endless personalty questioners which, in an act of self sacrifice that would make Jim Caviezel envious, you’ve accomplished the impossible. You’re done. You’ve gone through the telepod and made it out to the other side; experiencing only mild Brundlefly side effects.
Now it’s time to put on the Ray Bans, lean back in your pleather executive chair with your feet stretched out and crossed onto the desk all the while blaring Timbuk 3 through your tinny, bass-phobic computer speakers. The sweet smell of success is so strong it cuts through your vapid anal cream odor. The space between both ears may have been reduced to a pink and grey paste, you may on rare occasions answer to the name Theodore Logan and your ass probably looks like the aftermath of Colonel Kurtz’s destroyed compoundbut these are just small casualties in an otherwise bigger war. Not much longer now and you’ll be rising up the ranks, all the way to the top. All you gotta do now is wait. And wait. And wait. The legs are off the desk, the shades are now gone. Timbuk 3 has long since been replaced by Eric Carmen’s trademark tune of self pity and the putrid stench of anal cream once again fills the air. You’ve waited days, checking the e-mail at least three dozen times every instance you sat down to the computer. You’ve even e-mailed yourself just to make sure your inbox is receiving incoming mail correctly. Nothing. All the while you grind your bitter teeth knowing somewhere out there Ted Bundy just received the keys to the employee van you were hoping to get and is heading out for the beach, arm in cast.
All that long, tiring work and no reward. It’s the real life equivalent to the early MAC game ‘The Oregon Trail.’ Your six kids are dead from cholera, the wive who you’ve aptly named after one of many Victoria’s Secret models drowned while crossing a four foot riverand in the final stretch of 16 color landscape your final Oxen smashes into the ground dead with victory in site. “Thought you could take ‘The Trail’ on hard, didn’t you? Fuck you and your foolhardy, childish ambitions. ”
You may have been down, but not out. There was always the next day, during library break, to jump back on the wagon, create six new kids and rename your hot pixelated wive one of the multiple lingerie models who hadn’t yet drowned while crossing the Columbia river. My kids could starve, my 8-bit trophy wife could succumb to cholera and my supplies could be ravaged by Indians but god dammit, I’ll finish that game. Twenty seven trieslater and fresh out of Victoria’s Secret models to kill the ancient Apple Mac II had destroyed my will to continue through brute force. Maybe like playing the game, it was time to lower my expectations regarding my work possibilities. If the online job search hadn’t worked, maybe donating my organs to the black market would.
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heading into the truck stop. Why? God knows. A cast of characters assembled 
from ‘The Garbage Pail Kids’ movie no doubt waited to great me upon arrival yet I still wished to look like something that hadn’t been scraped off the side of the road in a bloated heap. More for myself than them, I guess. I couldn’t dwell on it but who was I kidding? The same sweat stained clothes plastered upon my body for days at a time, hair which looked like it had been attacked by a ravenous pack of Flowbee’s and drool coated across my cheeks. From a visual standpoint, getting rid of the dog hair off of my t-shirt was like attempting to dust off a turd.
Feast your eyes upon an innocent bottle of Gatorade. Silhouetted, many claim the brand’s 32 oz. plastic container resembles the tip of a male reproductive organ. While filling a bottle which used to hold your Lemonade flavor with a liquid very similar to the one you just drank, you can’t help but to think the silhouette legend is actually subversive advertising at its finest. They claim their drink to be the ultimate thirst quencher; what you’ll never know is their bottle also acts as the ultimate bodily fluid reliever. Stout, durable and with a leak proof twist on cap, your Gatorade is more than happy to become the mini urinal on the go. A word of advice: draining the dink while in motion is an act better performed by the seasoned few. The battle scarred roads of I-5 on your way to Los Angeles are liable to make even the sturdiest handed bottle filler spray his contents throughout the cab with little remorse. The trucking life is a cruel mistress and she shows no mercy for your suffering bladder; you learn the Gatorade filling ropes or you strap yourself into a fancy pair of adult diapers.
