From a Martian’s Perspective
Question: Why did the
snake cross the road? Answer: I don’t know if he actually made it across the road but I sure as
hell am not going over there to ask him!
It seems when I noticed him, and other cars zoomed right by him, he was
having a “traction issue” with the surface of the road that was probably, oh,
about 95+ degrees HOT at the time. I
kind of felt sorry for him. Psych. Not really.
There are times when I think to myself: if I was a Martian visiting from another planet,
what would puzzle me the most about this land?
First and foremost, it would be the strange obsession with one joke in
America: “Why did the chicken cross the
road?” It is classic because: a) chickens do, indeed cross the road; b)
nobody knows why due to the communication impasse we have with poultry; and c)
the listener really anticipates that you are going to finally tell them a
really, really funny answer to the question – and yet no one ever does. Why this joke has lived so long is really a testimony
to residual HOPE in the human
heart: we HOPE someone, eventually,
tells us a great reason…. But so far the ball is still in their court (the
chickens).
Animals should not cross the road unsupervised. But I can say this for sure and for certain: woodchucks shouldn’t be allowed to DRIVE
unsupervised! And I am not referencing
animal woodchucks. I am openly
satirizing the brand of human being that drives a pick-up truck, has only a few
teeth that are not even necessarily situated next to each other, and live
mostly on the outskirts of true civilization … and with good reason. Here are my two best wood chuck stories:
I was driving to my dentist appointment last week – at the
designated speed limit, which, as intended, gave me ample time to stop for the
fiasco. On this long country road which
runs next to the Erie Canal (yes, that
Erie Canal with a mule named Sal) there had been construction the prior week
which led me to have a wary eye as I was driving. You know, in New York, they actually have a
sign that just says: “Bump.” And usually it should have actually
said: “CRATER.” So I was watching for the bump or a sign or
something and then I saw a Tree Service truck on the side of the road. Heckle and Jeckle were parked next to a
telephone pole that is in two pieces, still standing vertically, but snapped
with jagged edges. It is hard to imagine
what mishap caused this situation but I am guessing it would have won the Top
Prize on “Funniest Home Videos.”
In a farm-sized driveway on the opposite side of the road sits
an empty school bus. A man resembling
Ichabod Crane getting up from his long nap was walking around the front lawn. I am hoping the two stories are not connected
in any way. Then as I came to a gentle
stop, I looked up to see the wire from the telephone pole hanging mighty low –
think “brush the top of my windshield” low and you get the idea. One of the guys, with his bare hand, lifted
the wire up so that the west-bound car could drive under. Then he dropped it. So I remained sitting there in the eastbound
lane, waiting. And all of a sudden from
behind me, two Woodchuck Cowboys blaze around me in their big arse vehicles and
JAM their gas pedals to go somehow through or under that wire. I cannot repeat the phrase I said when I saw
this. It was sheer horror at their lack
of patience! The first guy made it
under. The second guy blazed through and
I watched the wire fling something else up over the top of the truck. I do not know if it was one of those
triangular ice melters we have on our telephone wires here or what it was. It just flicked up and over the truck and he
blazed on.
These types of incidents give
me chest pains. I really cannot grasp
what was so important that they would be so foolish – maybe they were headed to
a happy hour or a cow auction somewhere?
It was just crazy. Eventually one
of the tree service guys grabbed a metal post (??? to lift a wire that has some
sort of energy in it???) and lifted the wire up for me. Otherwise I’d still be sitting there. I am kind of wondering if they are still standing there. You can’t make this stuff up.
The other story is a tale of Woodchuck Camping. (No details have been omitted for the purpose
of political correctness or accuracy in journalistic reporting. Again, you
can’t make this stuff up.) I had taken one of my dogs camping on Lake
Ontario for a weekend. In the morning,
the guy two campsites over from mine walked over to the Hispanic young adults
at the in-between-us campsite and proceeded to make his awkward
introduction. He had on jeans, a
sleeveless tee shirt, and was nursing a can of cold and hopsy already at
9am. The young adults were sitting in a
friendly circle just chatting when he walked over and asked where they were
from and then made some reference that presumed they did not work for a
living. It was like throwing a rock
through a plate glass window to say hello.
BUT, they were incredibly gracious and informed him they worked in
Hartford and had the week off from work.
“That’s cool. Mind if I sit
down?”
Again, the picture of hospitality, they welcomed him into
their circle. He was a world apart from
them. And, truth be told, from most
people I know…. He was just really, really rough around the edges. I mean, when you run out of Nascar stories,
what else IS there to talk about?
Later in the day I was entertaining some friends for the
afternoon and dinner on the campfire.
They got up to leave and go back to civilization. I asked one of my guy friends, “Pizza Dave,”
if he’d walk me to the restroom before he left.
We had a bit of a moment earlier in the afternoon when he patronizingly tried to correct me that it was “not nice” for
me to call that guy a woodchuck.
Whatever. Dave didn’t have to
listen to the bragging and the nonsense all morning long.
We walked in the dark along the unpaved camp road, each site
marked by a fire pit near the edge of the street. On the way past that third site there came a
horrible snorting noise that made Pizza Dave jump a few inches off the ground,
still nervous in the Great Outdoors. He
turned to me and practically shouted:
“What was THAT? A BEAR?!” I didn’t flinch for a second: “No. A
Woodchuck.”
The guy had moved his lawnchair next to his fire pit and
fell asleep there. I kind of doubt
anyone told him that mosquitoes do not consider snoring a repellant. I bet he was one big welt when he got up in
the morning… unless, of course, woodchucks don’t use deodorant.
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