Desitooted Driver

Text me, my child
It's Friday and it's raining. I think this is a major crime against humanity. If it's going to rain, it should save it up for Monday and, if necessary, Tuesday and Wednesday. Even Thursday. 4 solid days of rain during the work week is better than raining on a Friday. I just think it's wrong. So, since I'm a Christian and all, I'm texting God to bitch about this.

"Dear Lord, please stop making it rain on Friday. This is totally unfair and it really pisses me off. I'm not saying I'm blaming YOU. Please don't strike me with lightning or have my mother sideswipe my car again. It's just that I know you could move the rain to Monday if you wanted to, so I thought I'd just ask if you'd do this for me, please. Amen. Oh, and also, that thing I said before about Jessica Biel still goes. If I could just have one shot, that's all I ask, just one shot, I'd be eternally grateful."

I realize there's nothing in the Bible about anyone texting God, and I can't tell you how much trouble it was to get his mobile number, but even so, I'm texting him like mad. Some people I know pray all the time. Some people text all the time. I combine the two. I even forward funny pictures and dirty jokes people send me to God. He hardly ever replies, but one time I got a holy "LOL" and it was the high point of my week. Oh, and one time he texted me a picture of Jesus doing "the shocker."

I'm going to traffic school tomorrow. I travel 400 miles each week through three Southern-American states and I pass through a lot of tiny little speed-trap towns along the way. So when I got a Barney Fife ticket for driving along in the middle of a herd of cars in rush hour and the cop said "you were just going the same speed as everyone else, weren't you?" as he proceeded to write me up anyway, I said, "fuck this shit, I'm not having this on my driving record."

Not to his face, of course.

So anyway, I signed up for traffic school. When I went to the tiny little courthouse to sign up, 'cuz you have to do it in person, I got into a conversation with the two black ladies who work there.

"Oh hun, I got a ticket just last week in the next town over. They're a bigger speed trap town than we are even. He said I was driving with my parking lights on and that made him madder than a pedophile. I said "whaaaat?? Madder than a pedophile? Are you crazy? That don' make no sense at all." And he got all up in my face. He was all red, you know. I think there was something wrong with him."

We talked there in that office for an hour. Those ladies had me laughing my ass off.

"We have a man livin' 'roun' here, he's about 80 and he fought in Vietnam or WWII or sumthin'. He gets ta drinkin' and then he gets caught drivin'. So he was tryin' ta tell me that he can't get no DUI ticket 'cause he weren't drivin'. He say, "I had me a desitooted driver." I said, "A what?" And he say, "A desitooted driver." You know what he mean, right, a designated driver? I never laughed so hard. That poor man. He's so old he can barely see."

I swear to you, I asked for something to write on so I could write that down. I want to get me a bumper sticker that says "Desitooted driver" and put it on my mom's car. I just love that.

"Yesterday," the woman started telling me, "we had a man all upset 'cause he gots a ticket for speedin' and he didn' like the officer. He said he felt that the officer "jupiterized" his life. He said "I was in fear 'cuz he done jupiterized my life." You know what he say, jeopardized his life? I say, "he done whaaaaat?" An' he say "he jupiterized my life." An' I laaaaaaaughed!"

I think those women have more fun at their jobs just because of the crazy people they deal with than anyone I know. They seemed to be having the best time when I went in there. I wish my job was as much fun as that.

So anyway, tomorrow is traffic school with people who claim to have had desitooted drivers or who have had their lives jupiterized. I'm hoping it's a lot of fun. After that, it's a big Halloween party. I'm going as Captain Morgan, the pirate on the rum bottle. I told my niece about it and she didn't seem too impressed.

"You're going as a guy on a bottle of rum?"

"Yeah, and I'm bringing the rum for the party, too, just to make sure they know who I am."

"What does your costume look like?"

"I have a big pirate hat and long hair and a mustache and goatee thing, the coat and poofy shirt. I've got two pistols to put in my belt just like he has. And I have a real sword."

"A real sword? Your costume came with a real sword?"

"No, I already had the sword."

"Oh, of course you did, because, I mean, who doesn't have a sword lying around, right?"

So, yeah, I'm going to Halloween as Captain Morgan. And yes, I have an authentic pirate-approved sword that I just happened to have lying around from a long, long time ago. Don't laugh. The costume is SO much cooler with the sword.


I'd like to put a little Captain in Jessica Biel