I hate that our trips to TX require us to drive through Jokelahoma as nothing good seems to come from traversing the red dirt filled hell. Or so I thought…
We needed to refuel our OverlandPark cruiser with petrol and Ardmore, Fuklahoma seemed as good a place as any, given the fact that the fuel light had been on since Fort Worth…
So I pulled the ol’ soccer mom-mobile into a filling station right off I-whatchutalkinboutwillis35. Jill and the kids wandered inside to visit the local pisser, while I fueled up the car/truck/whatever a Honda Pilot is.
While I was standing there, breathing air that didn’t smell like sweaty feet sprinkled in shit, I made my usual survey of the surrounding area. A mere two pumps over from me was a 1/2 ton Chevy shit-hauler painted that ever-so unique color…primer gray.
Standing to the far side of this blessed vessel was, what had to be a local beauty queen, circa 1974. She was busy putting a $1.62 worth of 87 octane in the aforementioned 1/2 ton Chevy shit-hauler. She glanced over noticing me watching her. This was a sure sign of trouble.
She smiled showing me her methamphetamine created smile. The gray of the four teeth she possessed elegantly matched the grey of the aforementioned 1/2 ton Chevy shit-hauler. I could tell she was engaging her feminine charms. She quickly straightened her sleeveless Dale Redneck Sr. NASCAR t-shirt, lightly brushing the bottom edge to whisk away the Burger King Whopper remnants.
She then turned her body, still smiling at me with her primer colored teeth and what I can only assume where her gums. I watched as the sun caught the top of her pock marked inner forearm. My eyes moved slow and painfully up her arm to what was once her bicep, now a skinbag decorated with a tribalbarbedwire tattoo. I am not sure, it could have been a tattoo of I-35 from San Antonio to Wichita, it was difficult to discern as the fumes from the gas running on the ground were clouding my eyes and mind.
I can only assume she deduced her “feminine charms” were not working on me as I had not yelled to her, “Hey whore, lift your shirt and show me those chewed on dog toys. Play with their noses some, it really does it for me”. One cannot make too many assumptions regarding situations like these. However it was clear she was switching tactics.
It seemed since her beauty was not to seduce me, the siren then tried to bedazzle me with her intellect. Still employing the omni-present gray fleshy smile she reached into her left back pocket and pulled out a package of some sort. I distinctly remember it was her left back pocket as a leather wallet attached to a chain that was subsequently attached to a belt loop, occupied her right back pocket. I have no idea what was in her front pockets, but I am sure it has to smell like catfish bait.
I digress….
Oh yes, the package from the left back pocket. I could tell she wanted to impress me with her Poklahoma intellect, something beyond the rudimentary reedin’ an’ rightin’ an’ ritmatick she had attained. Apparently she wanted to demonstrate her knowledge of chemistry, likely something she learned from her kin. The package she retrieved from her left rear pocket was a package of Marlboro Lights. I am unsure if the tobacco product in question was specifically 100’s or menthols as I am not a smoker. Nonetheless with the grace of a crackhead holding a bag full of assholes, she packed the smokes on the palm of her hand and tossed one straight from the pack into her awaiting gums.
Then came the impressive part…while tapping out the last $.13 of the aforementioned $1.62, into her tank, she simultaneously and notably with her free claw, lit her cigarette. Noticeably proud of the fact that she successfully lit the cigarette with one hand (not to mention not blowing me, herself and 2 others into the wal-mart parking lot across the street) she flashed me a “ohyeahigotitgoingontakemetothetribalcasino” look. Pfft tribal casinos…don’t get me started on those red devils….again I digress.
By this time I am praying Jill will exit the store and the gas pumping banshee would be afeared and flee. To my surprise it was not Jill exiting the store that hastened the crones retreat, but the crones “20-something” girl friend. That is right my friend, that old 1/2 ton Chevy drivin’, skinbag tattoo havin’, Marlboro smokin’, gas pumpin’ reptile was a lesbian. A lesbian with a SMOKIN’ HOT “20-something” girlfriend. At this point my hypocrisy kicked in and I admit the whole scenario was hotter than a monkey’s ass on the savannah.
With all my love,
Tony
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