So I drove eight hours from Columbus, OH to Milwaukee, WI a while back. Had my soda, Vivran, candy bars, blow – I was ready to not fall asleep and do it to it! Longest trip ever for me solo. Well, I was solo in mine own car, but my friend and MASTER, Wayne, was leading the way as Milwaukee is his hometown. (His family settled in Milwaukee after they fled Red North Korea back in ’83. – Hey, that same year Return of the Jedi, Superman III, and my sister debuted! Wow. Insert line about geekdom / lack of lady love here. – No. Strike that. Don’t. I’m turning over a new leaf. … Whoa. Holy crap. This parenthetical aside is now longer than the main, on-subject paragraph! I wonder what would happen if I just allowed myself to veer completely astray from my intended story proper and just let the randomness of the parentheses (as I use them in the LARD) take over. … What -- ? Holy … mother of – I just used parentheses inside of parentheses!!! This is too dangerous. Gotta end this "aside" … NOW!)
 Dang. Uh, anyway, eight hours driving a car is to me like … EIGHT HOURS DRIVING A MUH – FUCKIN’ CAR!!! See, dear readers, I hate driving. Loathe it in fact. It makes me more nervous than an episode of the second season of Project Greenlight. (With those creepy, passive aggressive directors Kyle and Efrem trying to rewrite my girl Erica Beeney’s script in preproduction AND as they shoot it. What nerve! What gall! Those two arrogant amateurs wouldn’t know subtlety if it hit them over the head with a heavy handed metaphor! … I’m doing it again, aren’t I? The excessive parenthetical shenanigans and goings-on? … Sorry.)
Yeah, anyway, driving blows. It ain’t natural; us willfully cramming ourselves into these metal (or plastic nowadays) boxes, often approaching speeds well in the excess of what I believe God and George Washington and Allah intended man to travel when they created America and the Earth waaaaay back in "olden times". Like, 1942 or somethin’—before I was even born. Seriously. If we were meant to go upwards of 80 miles per hour we’d have wheels and … metal bodies. Or. Whatever. (Ha- HA! Resisted the siren-like call of the parentheses there, didn’t I, friends in LARD for life? Just played it cool and stayed on track. Unlike Efrem on Project Greenlight. That uppity beesche asked for a new car in a production meeting just because my Erica had to have one. She’s from Columbus, OH! Hello! She had NO car in LA! You do, Efrem, you whiney cracker! You -- … Fuck. My. Cock. Did it again. Parentheses. Damn. But, anyway, missed the episodes? Check ‘em in reruns. Or on DVD. It’s worth it. Wait-- uh… where the aich ee double hockey sticks was I?)
Right.
The worst part of the trip, or of any trip, was going through downtown Chicago. I thought it’d be like Cousin Larry, before Balki rudely inserted himself into his life, going to Chi-Town for a new start. "It’s my life! My dreams!" – sing along – "And nothin’s gonna stop me now! …" Then that harmonica solo. Yeah. Perfect Strangers. You know what I’m writin’ ‘bout. When is that gonna come out on DVD? Everything else is. And Perfect Strangers is some quality, grade A funny stuff. Why, I – Holy… – I did it again! … No. Wait. I didn’t. This Balki and Larry hullaballoo isn’t parenthetical. "Don’t be ridiculous!" Love the way Bronson Pinchot delivered that witty catch phrase. Genius. (Wait – where was I?? Oh yeah, driving through downtown Chicago, even at 11:45 in the PM, is insane. Wayne (who claims to be Insane), was all, "This is where it gets crazy, Tits!" (That’s what he calls me … in my head.) "Stay on my furry ass!" And so I – ho’d it. Ho’d it! Is this in parentheses now? The main story’s in parentheses?? And I have two … TWO (?), no – now THREE parentheses within this parenthetical flava’??? Pfft. Look, this … this is a problem. I – I gotta go. Sorry ‘bout this whole mess. Not sleepin’ well and – No. No excuses. My bad. Gee dee it, this paragraph should be at least two or three paragraphs, huh? … Poop. I gotta go. Um … Good day.)
|
