Memorial Day weekend is now within reach, so we will be packing up the family truckster and heading to Pittsburgh for a wedding that has the potential to reach epic proportions. I like to think of this event as the alcoholic Super Bowl. Some of the best drinkers in the family will come together in one place to push their imbibing limits. Instead of a guest book they are just going to have a sign up sheet for a liver transplant. Yeah, it’s going to be that kind of weekend.
The only part of the trip that I dread is driving on a holiday weekend. Gas is more expensive, the po-po will be out in full force and so will the slew of pain in the ass drivers. You know what? I think I need to make an executive decision right here, right now. I am just going to let Amy drive, while I pre-game in the front seat. That my friends, is a money fucking call. Strap in the knee-biter, hand the keys to the Mrs., pop the cork, and enjoy the ride.
One of the best road trips I’ve ever had was the drive we made to Atlantic City a few years ago. My brother-in-law and I sat in the back of his Jaguar with an iPod in each of our hands and a cooler between us. We proceeded to get tanked while going song for song for three hours straight. When we got to the hotel, I ran inside to get the room keys and the manager asked me the color and make of the car I was driving. I told him to hold on, that I had to go outside and look.
Then, we proceeded to head up to our room on the illustrious 30th floor. The elevator door opened and we heard a bunch of loud loud voices coming from the penthouse next to our room. As we turn the corner, BAM! A pod of large black hookers looked at us like Maury just announced that we were not the father of their babies. We headed into the room and chilled for approximately 12 seconds and then headed back down to get another room.
Back on the elevator, we found ourselves in a rap video, starring the Three 6 Mafia and a couple of women with questionable morals, sporting dresses that required two hair-do’s to wear out on the town. I’m wedged in the corner with my pillow in one hand and a blue Igloo cooler in the other, not making eye contact with anything but the floor. In my mind I went through my survival techniques, but I couldn’t remember if you make yourself look bigger or play dead when confronted by rappers and ho’s. Ahhhhh, the good times of road trips past.
Now if you’ll excuse me I have to go create my big-baller playlist for the ride to the Keystone state.
You know it’s hard out here for a pimp
When he tryin’ to get this money for the rent
For the cadillacs and gas money spent
Will have a whole lot of bitches jumpin’ ship
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