bad barbecue
After riding the train for a few weeks every morning, I have devised a new method for getting people more excited about public transportation.There are parts of the track that soar out over the interstate and neighborhoods. I think they should install a seat that you can strap yourself into which is attached to an arm that pushes it out over the side.
Sure it's dangerous, and it's quite possible that one might mow down a line of telephone poles next to the track with your face if the arm didn't retract at the appropriate time, but I think getting the thrillseeker crowd involved with public transportation is a very wise idea.
It takes a real man to ride public transportation.
I am reminded of my days as a kid, working as a landscaper at a summer job. I was eating lunch at a tiny, dirty barbecue pit in southern Alabama with a gentleman known to his peers as Wormy.
Wormy was something of a prophet.
When I remarked to him that the barbecue might just be eating the enamel off of my teeth, he said "Real men eat bad barbecue."
I looked around the room at the aging southerners, shuffling back and forth to the anemic salad bar in their mesh-backed Napa caps, white wispy hair poking out over their ears.
"This doesn't really look like a room full of thrillseekers, Wormy."
Wormy shrugged.
We ate more bad barbecue.
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