Don’t tread on me

We’re home after a month out. That’s a long time for me. When I’m on the truck we usually do about 14-21 days and then George has to have some quiet time before he loses his ever loving mind, so he drops me off at the farm and flees into the hum of the highway, without the aid of a co-pilot who gasps and clutches the dash every six seconds.

I’m kidding. I’m fairly used to the highway patterns of insanity, and instead of gasping and clutching anymore, I just scream obscenities while George calmly saves yet another clip on the dash cam of someone cutting us off by about nine centimeters to hit an exit two lanes over. I hope when whoever came up with the idea that it’s OK to ban trucks in the left lane dies, they go to a purgatory where they have to dodge tiny monsters that shoot out from behind trees while they’re running a gauntlet at 70 miles an hour, for time and all eternity.

Coming home after a month away from Ohio is interesting, especially if the month you happen to miss is April, where everything transitions from brown shriveled funk to a green paradise. We got home just in time to see the purple tulips in full bloom, an event I would have been heartbroken to miss, because I am old and I love my flowers.

Our little spot in Ohio is relatively quiet. There’s not a whole lot going on in the Fairborn area except the base, so when I caught the local college, Wright State, on the national news feed I opened it up and immediately wished I hadn’t. Sometimes, I think I have too much access to the news and what’s going on, because I don’t do my blood pressure any favors reading a lot of the news.

Anyway, there was a kid standing on the American flag in the courtyard, exercising his right to protest as well as be a blatant and redundant copy cat, because a kid at Valdosta State University beat him to it a couple months ago and got shoved around by a female vet and Playboy model, which, when you really think about it, was probably the pinnacle of this loser’s life.

I realize that everyone has a right to protest, I get it – it’s the basis of the idea of freedom, but I don’t have to agree with how you do it. And like my flowers, I love my flag. We are a deeply patriotic family and have a deep respect for our flag and the people who fought under it. And if I thought any of these kids really understood the level of disrespect most Americans see their actions as, I might take a minute to listen to what they’re saying, but they’re looking for YouTube hits and attention – especially the dork at Wright State. My comment to him was to get some new material, maybe kick some puppies around or slap a baby and see how many likes he can get on Facebook. (Disclaimer for those who don’t understand satire – I don’t condone kicking puppies, slapping babies, or standing on American Flags.)

The point is, there are better ways to get your ideas across, but unfortunately, they’ve found a sore spot and a way to get that much craved attention. Tah dah – they got mine. I’m talking about it, but I honestly still don’t know what the little turd was protesting and I never will because I have no desire to listen to someone standing on a flag. And while that might not be the politically correct way to behave, it’s the truth and I’m pretty sure I’m not the only person who feels that way. The same holds true for people who burn their own cities and steal Doritos to protest atrocities. Creating chaos in your own atmosphere does not solve problems and I’ll never understand it. (Ahem… I could reference at least three new FMCSA regs here and have a brillint analogy to the trucking industry, but I’ll spare you, because if you’re reading this you’re probably excruciatingly aware on a personal level without the analogy.)

In summary, banning trucks from the left lane is completely the opposite of safe, don’t stand on a flag if you want me to listen to what you have to say, and I’m probably not the most politically correct person on earth. Sunday preach has concluded. Thanks for reading.

from Overdrive http://ift.tt/1FIIEO7




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