Someone once said “you can’t judge a book by it’s cover.” This person was both stupid and ugly. If they were a book their cover would be something awful like this (not only is it one of the ugliest covers of all time, but if you read the summary the cover does a pretty great job of summing things up with it’s literal imagery and metaphoric bat-shit-craziness. Thus proving my point). Also if they were a book then I would support book burning even more ardently than I currently do.
Rambling Side Note: my support of book burning gets complicated when I think about Fahrenheit 451. Judging that book by it’s cover leads me to believe that it espouses a philosophy I can really get behind. The idea of reading the book to learn more, however, is a conflict of interests. Maybe I should just ironically burn it. Is that ironic? I don’t know, Alanis Morissette really messed me up on the meaning of that word. 2nd level side note, Alanis in the green at 0:43 is exactly what I look like on the road across America. Also, what the hell is she smelling at 2:44. Also, It must be costly for book burning advocates to get their message out there. Gota go with TV ads since distributing leaflets is off the table, and who listens to radio any more? That’s probably why we don’t hear more people bring up the subject.
So I’d like to share a few of the more colorful covers of America I’ve witnessed on my journey thus far.
Clemson, SC – I arrived around 5pm on a Wednesday physically, mentally, and spiritually ready to party it up with Dan Giordano. I immediately saw that I was not as ready as I thought. I pulled my car into the spot directly in front of Dan’s apartment only to find a horrifically drunk girl sitting on his steps. She was drunk in the wonderful way only women can become drunk. Crying hysterically, pleading to the heavens that she needed to get her car back, and judging by her wet shorts and the pool below her now beginning to trickle down the sidewalk, recently if not currently wetting herself. Being a well seasoned traveler I calmly got out of my car, quietly unstrapped my bike, deftly portaged across the golden stream and beyond the sack of hysterics no longer scientifically categorized among homo sapiens, and into Dan’s humble abode. Don’t worry though. While I myself may be horrible, I do surround my self with good people and Dan is no exception. The well know “sick guy” took care of her until help arrived. Welcome to Clemson, where every fella is a gentleman, and every lady is a f**king train wreck.
Charleston, SC – After settling into my hostel I set out for a nice run in order to detox from my visit with Dan in Clemson ($2 bourbon drinks!). 5 minutes into the run I turned onto the main downtown street (because I only work out in order to ‘be seen’). There I was greeted by a car door flying open in front of me, and a young man leaning out to vomit all over the side walk. Again… it was 8pm on a Thursday. The Palmetto State knows how to party! They don’t follow the majority and hold off till night fall. They do have a history of going against the grain (see: The Civil War). At least he was leaning out of the passenger door.
New Orleans – I parked directly in front of Bobby Dressel’s pad in the French Quarter. Stepped out of my car, and immediately had a cumulonimbus of weed blown in my face by the guy casually lighting up next to me. Yet again it was 3pm on a Wednesday. Did I miss something? Is Wednesday the new Friday? Is pissing your pants while black out and brazen drug use the new drinking responsibly? I blame books.
??? – To protect the innocent I’m going to yada yada over where I was and who I was with. I arrived and knocked on the door only to be greeted by a poor man’s Dave Navarro. Dave Navarro is of course the poor dothraki’s Khal Drogo (If you need a link to know who Khal Drogo is then you can immediately unsubscribe from my blog, head down to the rickety chair store, swing through the rope depot, and then connect the dots). Really though, this guy looked just like Dave Navaro if Dave Navarro was less into music and satanic fashion shoots, and more into acid. The greeting was followed by a 48 hour introduction to rednecks, Abu Ghraib worthy music, and consistent James misery. I hadn’t felt that out of place since Star Wars Card Friday Nights at the Burke comic book shop was taken over by the cancer known as Pokemon cards. These 48 hours will require a separate and detailed blog post in order to fully mention the bisque. It will undoubtedly come in an untimely manner.