Sudden Death - Denver over Green Bay
An EGR Exclusive Special Report by Rudy BloomDear Rageboy:
On Friday I had done the math, watched the Weather Channel and had the numbers... Sunday's Super Bowel and a big H over the Great Basin meant good skiing in Tahoe. I was wrong. Somehow I forgot that the 9ers weren't playing. After driving to Truckee, I saw the horror... crowds of Sony Bono wannabees packed in 4x4s. The only alternative was to keep driving to Reno for buffet and whores (gambling? Ha! A statistician's fevered nightmare).
Next day we returned to the slopes but had to park in another county. I found the only refuge was black diamonds on the Backside (not a sexual reference). After skiing enough and toking in the trees (gawd, the Red Coats on patrol must moonlight for Dan Lundgren), we boarded a shuttle bus for the long trip back to "Revenge of the Son of the ...". Later, during the drive home, my girlfriend said, "You really should stop talking so casually about murdering people and burying them in the snow. Didn't you notice how quiet the shuttlebus got, you know, after that guy commented on the crowds thinning out?".
"So, it's ixnay on the eoplepay urderingmay?"
"I think so".
Hmmm. I haven't yet come to a conclusion about such a lifestyle change. I find unnatural death really is a crowd pleaser, and their nervous pause is merely a moment of reflection on the fragility of mortal life, not a look for available exits. If they thought about sudden death as much as I do, they would stop looking for emergency exits. Like being in a falling elevator, people think all one need to do is jump up just at the right moment, and everything will be OK. Nowadays, with everything on video tape, a citizen can see a dozen real deaths for breakfast. How much time is there for that elevator hop? What about ducking the driveby spray of MAC-10 plugs? Oh, and let's not forget "In the unlikely event of a water landing...".
Unless you have bought steerage on the Titanic, there simply will not be enough time to say or do anything. You hit the tree without a word, and the light switch is flicked off, just.. like.. that. No waving good-night to the nurse. Think about it. Now.
... and shut up about all those dead crack whores in my trunk.
Channeling Marlon Brando in the Outback
An EGR Exclusive Special Report by "Rudy Bloom"