Today’s the third anniversary of my best friend’s death. And I’m still pissed at the world. So, I thought that I’d write something funny.
In high school, my girlfriend Patti had a Jeep, actually it was her parent’s Jeep. A hardtop , maybe not a Jeep what-so-ever, but a Bronco. Who knows where we were going, or where we had come from, but we found ourselves 4-wheeling the Powell Mountain Trail. Google Maps Mitch and I thought it would be funny if we climbed onto the hood of the Jeep as we traveled through the mountainside. With fingers cliched with a death hold on the roof of the Jeep, we bounced and screamed while tree limbs smacked our heads as we traveled through the forest, Patti accelerating when we screamed, not braking. Not on the hood covering the engine, but literally on the vehicle’s top above Patti’s head. She was looking up at our fingertips as she hit the gas. There was one break in the action, when we stopped at an isolated pond in the middle of the woods for a beer break. Twenty-two shells from Mitch’s Dad’s gun skipped off of the pond while cherry bombs scared the hell out of the frogs. Then, we did the mature thing. We climbed back onto the roof of the Jeep for the ride back down the hill.
Just laughing silly, for the sake of laughing.