Who'll Stop the Rain?

The opening weekend in the NFL means that it is time for my yearly pilgrimage to Heinz field. Tropical storm Hannah is taking a monster dump outside, so I am drenched after throwing my backpack, pillow and jersey into the truck. Nothing like a four hour drive in soaking wet clothes. I settle in, start my trek up 15 North and it is just pissing rain, you'd think I ordered the super soaker car wash down at the wax-n-wash. "Um, yes, sir, excuse me but I ordered the four hour traveling soak, you know the one where you can't see shit out of your windows and the person in front of you just stops for no reason because they think they see standing water on the road, when in fact it is just a reflection of light against the wet pavement. Yeah, the wash where your wiper blades are going back and forth faster than coke addict on a cell phone call to his dealer at 3:00 AM. If you don't mind could you also throw in a tractor trailer rollover so that my rain-soaked clothes really feel great, while I am at a dead stop on the highway watching The Incredibles on the DVD in the mini-van in front of me. Finally, if you could have me hydroplane every 15 seconds or so just to keep me on my toes, I'd really appreciate it. I'd hate for my heart rate to drop below 170. Thanks!"

So that was the start of my trip. After Breezewood, which is about half way between Virginia and Pittsburgh, the weather started to clear up a bit, but not before I got to have my fun on the road to hell, they call the Pennsylvania Turnpike. I'm rolling down the highway doing about 70 and I look to my left and there is a cement wall two inches from my truck. Then, I look to the right and there is a huge semi two inches from my side mirror. Then, I look in the rear view and some douchebag from Ohio is two inches from my bumper. The rain is still coming down and if I make even the slightest error we will be playing Ford Explorer pinball. Like Luke Skywalker attacking the Death Star, I used the force, pushed the accelerator down and prayed for the best. Jesus fucking Christ, Jesus fucking Christ, Jesus fucking Christ, I make it past the semi and immediately merge right. Yeah bitches, suck it! Luckily, my Mom had a crowbar in the garage, because I needed it to loosen my grip on the steering wheel when I got to Pittsburgh.

The rest of my trip was rather uneventful. I got spend some time in the land of mustaches and jean shorts watching da Stillers whoop up on the lowly Texans, before returning back to Northern Virginia. I am off this week, so hopefully I'll conjure up a few posts, but I really need to work on my Wii Mario Cart skills and sell a bunch of shit on Craigslist. Priorities people. Now if you'll excuse me I have to go jam to Bob Seger in my living room and then find some pants so that I don't get arrested at the grocery store.