Chunky man driving a truck has a picture of a dinosaur shooting another with a gun and a snappy tagline about the NRA being evil and guns being responsible for killing the long since gone thunder lizards.
I have a twisted sense of humor and haven’t any problem at laughing things that I technically shouldn’t, including much that I disagree with politically.
But this isn’t clever or funny.
It is just dumb and I am surprised the driver wasn’t wearing a tinfoil hat or spouting off whatever crap the Russian bots who think for him have to say.
If he choked on a steak or shot himself in the foot he would blame Hillary Clinton and or the Democrats for making sure he wasn’t smart enough to cut his own meat.
Promises We Make & Promises We Fake
The dolt in the truck swings across two lanes without signaling and I wonder if it will be his driving that gets him instead of the truck or the gun.
I make a mental note to watch out when I take 121 and laugh because it doesn’t really matter, the drivers in the Metroplex are awful.
They tailgate, make their own lanes and pull the dumbest maneuvers I have seen in some time.
Sometimes we salute each other as they pass and I wonder if they appreciate how much attention I pay or that I try to do a good job of making sure my vehicles are in solid operating condition.
Thing is, it doesn’t matter if my brakes are in perfect condition or if I am driving with the same skill a Jeff Gordon or Earnhardt possesses because I am going to make a mistake.
I am g0ing to sneeze, cough, turn my head or get lost in thought and do something dumb.
We all do–it is part of being human.
We make mistakes and hope that nothing bad happens because of it.
Little sister calls and we spend a little time catching up and talking about some heavier issues.
Several hours after we hang up I call Pablo and tell him a little bit about the talk. He hears me lay down some serious crap and asks me if I hear what I am saying.
I nod my head and tell him I know precisely what I am saying and thinking.
This time he nods his head and reads some some of his Twenty Poems of Love and Despair, but in Spanish.
I nod my head again and tell him in English how much I appreciate him.
There are promises we make and promises we fake but I always know where I stand with him.
“That means something to me.”
I grab my phone, throw on the headset and start walking towards the gym. The first song isn’t what I would normally start my workout with but it reminds me of being good memories from childhood so I just run with it.
The Choices We Make
Later on at the gym I throw on a song that someone once told me they like because it is a thinking song.
But that is the thing, the goofy stuff gets me, the tales about the choices we make and how sometimes they lead us to reaching a little bit higher and maybe grabbing that brass ring move me.
Sometimes you have to dig deep and find a way to gut it out just a little bit longer.
So if goofy movies and some music provide that extra bit you need, so be it.