Blog In Your Throat
Joe’s Story:
So after a fun and inspiring day with Lee and Sara, I’ve decided to reward everyone with the continuation of the story. For those of you who began demanding this hours after it was up, your patience finally pays off.
So,
Joe.
Joe grew up in a Midwestern town (I want to say somewhere in Minnesota, but I can’t quite remember for sure).
Like most small-town Midwestern high-school teens, Joe made up for a lack of intelligence with an overabundance of brute strength. Like many other men of his stature, Joe played high school football.
Joe’s position was linebacker, which for those of you who are even more sports illiterate than I am, means “one who kills people.” Joe’s job was to run at an offensive player, and smite him upon the turf.
Joe did his job so extraordinarily well, he was asked to leave the team. Seriously. The coach said he was “too violent for football” because Joe caused “too many injuries” in one season.
Shortly thereafter, Joe was kicked out of high school for punching the principal in the face.
Oops.
Not knowing what else to do, Joe got in his car and left that small Minnesotan town in search of something to do with his life.
He drove to Florida, hoping to end that search quickly. But it is difficult for a high-school dropout with no real skills to find steady work. Yet he found a job – a seasonal job working with the state road crew.
It might seem as if Joe had it made – Florida weather, decent job, decent pay …
But Joe had no place to live, and in the middle of winter, even Florida gets cold at night.
Joe would finish his day’s work with the road crew, then drive to a beach and skin-dive for lobsters to make a few extra bucks. When it was late, Joe would drive his car long enough to heat the engine, then get out and sleep on the hood, which would keep him warm until he fell asleep.
Eventually, the seasonal job ran out, and Joe had to move on. He decided his life calling was to be a semi-truck driver. He drove to Texas, where he could get certified as a truck driver for passing a simple driving test.
On the way, he stopped at a U-haul center, rented a truck and practiced driving on it. When he reached the test center, he passed with flying colors. A week later, Joe had his first job: a thousand-mile haul from Texas to Los Angeles.
Joe picked up his shipment and headed for the highway. He made it about a block when, in the words of Dr. Waite, “Joe realized why all trucks have those stickers that say, ‘Makes wide right turn.’”
Joe cut his very first corner too sharp, and took down a post box, a trash can, a telephone pole and whatever else happened to be in the way. Joe couldn’t figure out what to do, so he just kept on driving. By the time he reached L.A., Joe was fired.
Now somehow (Dr. Waite was a little fuzzy on the details here), Joe made his way from L.A. to Canada, where he made his home with a tribe of Native Americans. These particular Native Americans chose to hunt for food as their ancestors did: with bows and arrows.
Joe, however, opted for a more traditional American approach. He simply grabbed a big-ass rifle and shot himself a moose. The Native Americans were thrilled by this stroke of good luck. They hacked off large chunks of the moose and carried it back to their village. Joe was a little confused about the Indian way (remember, Joe IS American). He couldn’t understand why they thought they should SHARE the moose that he killed. He assumed they were just helping him carry the whole beast back to his place.
After that first incident, Joe began shooting moose on his own, away from the tribe. Unfortunately for him, Canadian park rangers don’t appreciate Americans blasting the shit out of a threatened local species. They politely asked Joe to leave.
Joe, now used to being evicted, left Canada. He loved the cold and rough lifestyle of Canada, but longed for the “mind-your-own-business” attitude of America.
Thus, he decided his next home should be a happy compromise: Alaska.
To be continued …
So after a fun and inspiring day with Lee and Sara, I’ve decided to reward everyone with the continuation of the story. For those of you who began demanding this hours after it was up, your patience finally pays off.
So,
Joe.
Joe grew up in a Midwestern town (I want to say somewhere in Minnesota, but I can’t quite remember for sure).
Like most small-town Midwestern high-school teens, Joe made up for a lack of intelligence with an overabundance of brute strength. Like many other men of his stature, Joe played high school football.
Joe’s position was linebacker, which for those of you who are even more sports illiterate than I am, means “one who kills people.” Joe’s job was to run at an offensive player, and smite him upon the turf.
Joe did his job so extraordinarily well, he was asked to leave the team. Seriously. The coach said he was “too violent for football” because Joe caused “too many injuries” in one season.
Shortly thereafter, Joe was kicked out of high school for punching the principal in the face.
Oops.
Not knowing what else to do, Joe got in his car and left that small Minnesotan town in search of something to do with his life.
He drove to Florida, hoping to end that search quickly. But it is difficult for a high-school dropout with no real skills to find steady work. Yet he found a job – a seasonal job working with the state road crew.
It might seem as if Joe had it made – Florida weather, decent job, decent pay …
But Joe had no place to live, and in the middle of winter, even Florida gets cold at night.
Joe would finish his day’s work with the road crew, then drive to a beach and skin-dive for lobsters to make a few extra bucks. When it was late, Joe would drive his car long enough to heat the engine, then get out and sleep on the hood, which would keep him warm until he fell asleep.
Eventually, the seasonal job ran out, and Joe had to move on. He decided his life calling was to be a semi-truck driver. He drove to Texas, where he could get certified as a truck driver for passing a simple driving test.
On the way, he stopped at a U-haul center, rented a truck and practiced driving on it. When he reached the test center, he passed with flying colors. A week later, Joe had his first job: a thousand-mile haul from Texas to Los Angeles.
Joe picked up his shipment and headed for the highway. He made it about a block when, in the words of Dr. Waite, “Joe realized why all trucks have those stickers that say, ‘Makes wide right turn.’”
Joe cut his very first corner too sharp, and took down a post box, a trash can, a telephone pole and whatever else happened to be in the way. Joe couldn’t figure out what to do, so he just kept on driving. By the time he reached L.A., Joe was fired.
Now somehow (Dr. Waite was a little fuzzy on the details here), Joe made his way from L.A. to Canada, where he made his home with a tribe of Native Americans. These particular Native Americans chose to hunt for food as their ancestors did: with bows and arrows.
Joe, however, opted for a more traditional American approach. He simply grabbed a big-ass rifle and shot himself a moose. The Native Americans were thrilled by this stroke of good luck. They hacked off large chunks of the moose and carried it back to their village. Joe was a little confused about the Indian way (remember, Joe IS American). He couldn’t understand why they thought they should SHARE the moose that he killed. He assumed they were just helping him carry the whole beast back to his place.
After that first incident, Joe began shooting moose on his own, away from the tribe. Unfortunately for him, Canadian park rangers don’t appreciate Americans blasting the shit out of a threatened local species. They politely asked Joe to leave.
Joe, now used to being evicted, left Canada. He loved the cold and rough lifestyle of Canada, but longed for the “mind-your-own-business” attitude of America.
Thus, he decided his next home should be a happy compromise: Alaska.
To be continued …
posted by Sketch E. at 2:08 AM
1 Comments:
i want to know the rest of the story.
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