Hands down, this is the guy. This is the guy you want leaning intimately into you, inviting you to be in cahoots with him, to share the secrets he’s learned on the road.
Forgive me. I was premature in my assumption. THIS is the guy.
Yes, the one with the mutton chops, driving his Rebel Flag-decked out Bandit up to California. Is he sucking a Lemonhead? Is he dipping Skoal? He’s a man of mystery. I just feel a strong sense of… Gary Sandy surrounding him. Yes, that’s it. He must be related to Gary Sandy. You know, Andy Travis from WKRP?
Whoa. Is it hot in here? I’m feeling faint, and it’s not a touch of Johnny Fever. Believe me. Okay, time to refocus. Surely, there’s some trucker in this book who can compete with an aging sitcom star.
Um. No. That is NOT the ticket. Perhaps this young fella?
His head says Yankee, but his body says Confederacy. Who has time for a cocksure whippersnapper with an identity complex? Not me. I haven’t got time for the pain. Okay, let’s spin the wheel. Surely there’s SOMEONE.
AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAGGGGHHHHH! Make it stop!
What else is there for a toddler to do in the aftermath of Nazi-ravaged Warsaw, Poland but skate her cares away in the rubble and cess?*
*My best-guess caption
Wayne is caught up in the ambiance that IS a Pennsylvania truck stop. So filled with anticipation is he of this new day, that he could barely push his hat down on his head. And who could blame him? Just walking into this charming lounge would brighten anyone’s day.
Across this great nation of ours, other truckers speedily consume their meals, rejoicing at the prospect of what the road will offer. George can barely contain himself.
Harlan is busting at the seams. As soon as he finishes this cigarette, it’s out of the comfort of this red booth and into the luxury of the big rig.
Young Buck, Jr is positively stoked to be spending the day with Buck, Sr, rolling across the wide open spaces of Wyoming, counting bug corpses as they splatter on the windshield.
Dick shares a glance with Kevin, a glance that conveys what words never could. Finish up your pie there, son, and let’s hit the road. Back to the snow and the relentless wind. We don’t get paid to sit. Well, technically, we DO, but you know what I mean.
Just saw this hilarious video on the Fresh 102.5 blog, but it’s much easier to just watch on YouTube. If you like funny 80s movie references, it will delight you to no end. It did for me!
I’m so excited. And I just can’t hide it. Seriously. I convey this both in my posture and my expression, which exude a certain joie de vivre.
All ye men in trucker caps, dig through your cab until you find the mix tape with “Eye of the Tiger” and “Don’t Stop Believing” and play the bejesus out of it until you get your heads on right.
These pics aren’t even from the same STATE, but it looks like the same place, the same hopeless truck stop, filled with men filled with defeat. Seriously, brothers–y’all got to start listening to some Joel Osteen or something. Here, I’ll get you started:
I’m the head and not the tail.
I’m more than a conqueror.
I’m the victor and not the victim.
And just in case you can’t find that mix tape, here’s Jerry Reed’s inspirational “East Bound and Down”:
He may be young, but he’s hardly fresh. With no woman to put his arm around, he chooses the coin-operated TV, with a screen smaller than a Kindle. It’s 2am, and he just filled up the tank of his 18-wheeler. At $3.50 per gallon of diesel fuel, and a 300 gallon tank, that was about a grand. But don’t worry; he gets 5.5 miles per gallon. Excuse me? No wonder he looks miffed.
Sally just took his order, and will be right back to top off his coffee. He hasn’t exercised in
weeks years, he spends all day hunched over the wheel, and he neglected to take his multivitamin this morning. But do you think he ordered the Cobb Salad? No, sir. Would you order the Cobb Salad if you just spent an hour adjusting your rear tandems because the moron who loaded your truck put all the weight in the back? I didn’t think so. He ordered the fried beige basket–you know, filled with french fries and fried meat, with a side of toast and gravy–the kind that keeps Dairy Queen (and cardiologists) in business.
Dang, I picked the wrong day to fast.
Now can we just talk about that enchanting clock for a sec? Some mastercraftsman took a piece of wood and rendered an awesome image, and if Billy weren’t so damn jaded, he’d turn around and recognize. Maybe he needs a little Savior’s hand on his left shoulder. What do you think, Billy?
There’s a place not far from here. Get your bearings, get a message. They’ll set you straight.