I ran into Joe Mama on the clusterfuck known as I-475 leading into Atlanta late last night. I was bored as hell and had set up a tripod and mounted my camera in the breakdown lane. I wanted to get a shot of either a commercial jet landing on runway 24 West, or else one of the many ass smoking sports cars like Lambourghini's or the fabled Ford F-1 GT that scream through there late at night.
As I was looking through the viewfinder and checking the built in lightmeter on my trusty Canon Ftb, I was startled by the soft sound of tires on bits of gravel coming from behind me. Shit, I thought, it is probably a Georgia State Trooper gonna shoo me off the side of the road or maybe even give me a ticket or something. I turned around and much to my surprise, it was Joe Mama sitting behind the wheel of her van.
"Whatchoo doing there jerk?" she asked. "I'm setting up to take pictures of some of them sportscars I keep hearing about." "Fuck that shit, she says, let's race into Dalton." "Route 60 has a shitload of hills and curves and we can stop at that all night Starbucks, get on the internet, and terrorize people on fornits." She flashed me an evil grin and pulled along side me with her flashers going. "Well c'mon jerk, LET'S DRAG!!!!"
I decided it would be cool to have both of our cell phones on for this momentous occasion and she agreed. To my surprize, Joe Mama had never raced her van before and did not know what to do so she asked me for instructions. "Okay, I told her, "Put the shift lever into R for Race!" She did and punched it and shot backwards in a cloud of dust and almost hit a support column while I laughed my ass off. "You sumbitch, you almost crashed me!," she yelled over the phone. "Oh shit, I forgot, for vans you gotta put it in D for Drag."
So she did, and shot off like a bat out of hell, with me close behind.
She stayed ahead of me until we got off on Route 60, then the first hill took it's toll on her overloaded vehicle and she began to slow down. "Help me jerk, she yelled, I'm slowing down, what can I do?"
Trying to keep the laughter out of my voice I tell her, "Put it into 2,
that way you'll go twice as fast!!!" She did, and the motor screamed in agony and sparks and shit started hitting the road under the van. "Goddammit, you're catching up to me, this is'nt fair!" "Calm down, calm down, now is there a big letter P on the shifter?" "Yes, yes, there is!," she screamed excitedly. "Okay then, now when you start coming down this next hill, I want you to slam it into P for Power and the added gravity should let you really haul ass, you got it?"
What happened next almost made me run off the road. The back wheels locked up, and somehow her dogs opened the side door and bailed out like paratroopers leaving a burning C-47. Next the driveshaft snapped off at the transmission U-joint throwing off shitloads of sparks and looking like the Worlds Largest Bottle Rocket flying around under there. There was a strange glow eminating from inside the van as the tortured transmission went thermonuclear and Joe Mama's hair was flying up all around her head like Halle Barry's would do in all them X-Men movies. Before anything 'real bad' could happen, the trailing end of the driveshaft struck a pothole in the road and the whole fuck'n van flipped up and over like Bruce Jenner doing the pole vault in the Olympics.
As luck would have it, it landed on this huge ass roll of hay the size of a big tool shed. I decided it might be best to make myself scarce and call the accident in from a few miles away. I am sorry to say that I was not able to get any pictures, but damn that shit was funny to see!!! ::bwahaha:: ::cheers:: :rofl: 8-) :tup:
