If I had a nickel for every time I’ve said that, I could buy a roll of toilet paper to keep in my truck. But I don’t, so instead, when nature calls I grab for my trusty AAA motor club map of the lower 48, pull out the state of least importance and take a hearty swipe at my soiled asshole.
When it hits you, boy it hits you. Truck stop diners seem to excel at two things: curing incontinence and ruining your chances of making good time on the road. But the road is forgiving. When you have to drop your Levi’s and dump the kids off at the pool, the asphalt lies there quietly like a reprimanded little slo-bo child after a good old-fashioned scolding.
There’s not too many states left in my road map, but at least my asshole’s clean … for now.
Keep on truckin’ and lay off the coffee!
Davis Marvin Brubaker III