Sometimes, you just gotta laugh, because if you don’t, you’re mad all the time and end up with a nickname like “Grumpy Bug.” (I will not comment on whether or not I’ve ever been called this.) The past few days on the road have been challenging, to say the least. Running I-75 through Ohio is kind of like driving a 300-mile continuous strip of construction sites, populated with blind people driving their personal vehicles at approximately 700 mph. It’s a damn mess.
After sitting through the 5th accident scene in a 200-mile stretch yesterday, I was compelled to compile the snarky “Dear cities and states” posts I make on my personal Facebook page, because if I didn’t find something to laugh about, I was going to jump out of the truck and strangle someone. These are just a few thoughts I’ve had while sitting in traffic the past few weeks. (Think “Jack Handy” from Saturday Night Live, and try to laugh, because you know there’s a grain of truth in each one.)
Dear Louisville,
In your furious drive to destroy every single roadway leading into and out of your city, I’m afraid you missed one. 7th Ave. is still intact. If you hurry, you can obliterate it before supper.
Sincerely,
Screw You
Dear Cincinnati,
In the time you have been working on 75 through the city, glaciers have formed, melted, made canyons in the Earth and re-formed as glaciers again. Civilizations have come and gone — the Swatches you keep time with are antiquities. For the love of God, give up and start over. It would be quicker to plow a highway out with a team of hamsters harnessed to a yoke made of play dough than to wait for you to finish this mess you’ve made.
Sincerely,
I Hate You
Dear Detroit,
I have no words, mostly because I left 99 percent of my cognitive skills in a pothole nine miles outside of town. It does bear to be noted that one of the main roads leading into your fair city is named “Dix Highway.” Also, you people need Jesus.
Sincerely,
I Can’t Even
Dear Indiana,
I-70 between Spiceland and the Ohio state line in many ways resembles the above picture. I am certain it induces flashbacks in Veterans, because the pitted surface is reminiscent of bombed-out villages in Afghanistan. To demonstrate what it feels like to travel this ribbon of disaster, place yourself in an industrial-size clothes dryer with a cinder block, three large rocks, and a rabid raccoon and turn it on for an hour. After sustaining what I’m certain is irreversible kidney damage, a deviated septum and three chipped teeth, I finally gave up on making across alive, and dictated my last will and testament to my attorney, over the phone. In closing, this road sucks.
Sincerely,
A Very Damaged Taxpayer
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