Any of you ever having set even so much as a toe in Florida know that driving here is not at all unlike driving a Volkswagen beetle... on rocky African terrain with deadly venomous gaboon vipers in the space beneath your feet, while fleeing a herd of crazed elephants, one of whom is in must and probably looking to hump both you and your silly looking pea-green beetle to oblivion.

This is not a dramatization. I saw something on the road today that I never ever EVER want to see again...

I was driving... around in circles apparently, because some of the streets in Florida make about as much sense as George W. Bush without talking point notes. Some streets will go then just end at a T junction without any signs and continue half way up some other street. WHOSE IDEA WAS THAT!? Admittedly, the thought of snowbirds getting confused as all hell by that is fucking hilarious, BUT I LIVE HERE GODAMNNIT!

Anyway. So I was driving and this is construction season so there are like a bazillion detours and hordes of people in flamey orange hats standing around doing nothing... which I gather is becoming a state past-time seeing as how construction here seems to be in a continuous state of NOT-FUCKING-DONE. Finally, after getting through that orange plastered labyrinthian hellhole, I got a piece of cheese and went home happy. If only. If only.

I drove onto a small street with only 2 lanes of traffic. All was well, quiet. But suddenly a fuck-ugly 1969 Dodge station-wagon was heading right towards me, behind the wheel, a Walter Matthau clone with more ugly, less funny, and no hair. He was looking down at something utterly fascinating in or on his pants, maybe the floor. Whatever it happened to be was far more captivating than the road… you know, that big flat gray thing you’re supposed to look at while driving?

I figured I had about 3 seconds before this fossilized survivor of the Precambrian era hit me and I had 3 options:

1.) Let him hit me, he's only going 10 mlps per hour and I have a fucking Sherman tank- aka Ford Taurus.
2.) Turn right into the very deep ditch alongside me and hope I don't flip.
3.) Turn into the oncoming lane as there is presently no one in it.

In the time it took me to calculate that, it was already too late. Thankfully, he slammed on his brakes and only tapped my bumper. He then proceeded to back up and land ass-first in the same ditch I had considered diving into to get away from him. He then STOOD totally upright on his fucking gas pedal and flew out of the ditch across the street into a 25MPH sign.

At this point he looked like the ball in a giant invisible Pinball machine being played by an autistic chimpanzee on crack… or George Bush, whichever. This is when I stopped being angry and started laughing. He backed up AGAIN into oncoming traffic, went forward a little, backed up a small ramp, and hooked a reverse-left into a gas station. He came to a perfect stop directly alongside a gas pump in a maneuver that could only be described as totally accidental.

That was when I lost it. After my brain function returned, having taken a small break for some personal crazy-time, I drove away laughing. I laughed all the way home. I laughed into my house. I laughed past my mother who is now thoroughly convinced that I have lost my mind (joke’s on her, I never had one to begin with). I laughed at my dogs who are looking at me funny. I laughed going to get the mail. I laughed while taking a piss. I’m still laughing while writing this. I’m probably going to be laughing for the rest of the day.

Just assume that if you don’t hear from me for a while I have laughed myself into a vegetative state, in which case, I will still be laughing, if not out loud, then on the inside.

What I really never want to see again is this guy with ANY KIND of a steering wheel in front of him. I don't care if it's attached to a fucking toaster, he does not need to be driving anything that moves, or has moving parts, or isn't made by Mattel.