When Road Dome Goes Bad

While on a bike ride yesterday, we found ourselves caught behind a truck at a railroad crossing. The train, of the graffiti-laden, coal-lugging variety, was passing by slower than any I'd seen before but it looked to be at least halfway along... or so I hoped. There wasn't much scenery save the train, the dead grass, and the rusted-out shitbox ahead. In the cab sat a man whose head lay peacefully on the cab window. It rolled from side to side from time to time... good music perhaps? On the back window was one of those stereotypical Calvins, wearing the #3 and happily urinating on a #24. Ahhh, Nascar rivalries. Is there anything more classy? I always wondered why Hobbes got left out of the equation for these little decals... did he not approve? Was Hobbes not cool enough? Frankly, Hobbes is what makes Calvin & Hobbes so bloody amazing... Calvin's a spaz. That said, I certainly wouldn't want to be a party to such actions, especially if I knew I'd be displayed next to a Confederate flag sticker proclaiming "The South Will Rise Again." Such an odd sticker, given our location...

In the next couple of minutes, the man's head rocked faster... maybe he was listening to Freebird and it was finally getting the cool part near the end of the guitar solo. His hands rose to the roof of the cab and his head, once moving like it was on a swivel, pressed firmly into the cab's window... looked like his hat was tipping up a little off his sandy brown hair.

And then I heard screaming. Blood-curdling screams, flowing with the type of agony that I imagine few have had the misfortune of enduring.

A woman's head appeared in the window at the same time that the truck door flew open. [Now I've seen this type of thing before, or so I thought. A guy and a girl, making their way down the road, looks are exchanged, and road head ensues. But this wasn't quite going along with that formula.] A grimy man. Bass fishing hat, Sterling Marlin t-shirt, jeans around his ankles, bare arse in the breeze. "My dick! My dick! You stupid bitch!" His hands clasped his now damaged stock, while the woman slid out of the truck, blood on her face, looking every bit the Jerry Springer guest she'd eventually be.

She walked to the victim, now rolling on the ground, and spit a fleshy nub at his face. "I know all about Sandy and Tina. Try to keep fuckin now, asshole!"

Oops!

She then kicked him and walked away, as calm as a millpond. The only thing of note was that her ass looked like two pigs were wrestling for air in a potato sack... not that I'm one to judge (well, not all the time). At this point, the caboose of the train rolled past and she walked across the tracks. I turned my bike around and headed back from whence I came.

Now I don't quite agree with her actions. If your man is cheating on you, maim him, cut him, hell, even kill him. But don't damage his dick! There is still good to be had from it! I'm baffled by such rash actions. In any case, BOYS, let this be a lesson to you... if you're cheating on your girl, don't let her give you head... you might lose one of yours.