Road Talk

This weekend, I'll be making my way back to my ancestral highlands of Dallas/Fort Worth to do a little celebración del cumpleaños, in the words of the Spaniards. If your idea of a tickle-fest is 3 straight hours of pastures, Dairy Queens, and begging truckers to honk their horns, then you'd be right at home on this trip. Usually on longer trips like this, I like someone else to ride with me so I can play road-trip games. Road-trip games include the license plate game, Guess what I'm humming, and the crown jewel, 20 questions. You kids can have your X Boxes and your sex robots; 20 questions is the only entertainment I ever need.

I like that game so much, sometimes I'll just be hanging out with my friends and I'll ask if they want to play. You know, can we turn this movie off and do something fun for once? Like, ohh I don't know, maybe play 20 questions? 20 questions! 20 QUESTIONS!!!!! AHHHH!!!!! Sadly, I hang out with a bunch of punk weinerbiscuits who wouldn't know fun if it sank its teeth into their genitals. My only outlet for this passion then is to be trapped in a car with someone for several hours so I can wear down their resolve and get them to play. And when they relent, they regret it for two reasons.

Reason #1: I am awesome at 20 questions. I have rarely encountered someone better, and when I do, I pick something so strange that it demolishes their self-worth and keeps them from playing ever again. Give us an example of something that strange, the people yell. How about a lock of Dean Martin's hair? I picked that one time during a game with someone who thought she was hot shit, and I had her guessing for hours.
Reason #2: I am a gloater. This is slightly understandable, as I'm horribly incompetent at sports, academics, money, social affairs, and romance, which are typically the things people gloat about. I have to find my glory somewhere. Nevertheless, people get annoyed.

So, with no driving buddy for this trip, I can't get my 20Q on. Had I been thinking ahead, I would've got myself a CB radio for the ride and coerced some truckers into playing. Why don't I ever think ahead? I either need to find a CB rental shop (no idea if those exist), or do away with the CB idea entirely and just find a trucker who's headed to Arlington, is looking for a little non-sexual companionship for the road, and enjoys a few hours of spirited questioning. The loser empties out his pee bottle.