The War Path


Indeed this forum might be a great "20 thread" but with one caveat.

As I mentioned in another post, keep your eye on your sleeper partner if he's heading for Mustang Ranch or any other hoochie house. All the blood drains from your partner's big head to his little head; he is hell bent for (with apologies to Mr. Jagger) SATISFACTION; thus he neglects to fuel; he gets his; you have to drive because he became effete in achieving satisfaction; then you run out of fuel; then you become the bad guy for running his a** out of the sleeper to get fuel somehow somewhere and making sure that he understands that his quest for satisfaction created a mutual problem, to wit, an on-time delivery.
 
I'm home. In TinyTown, Idaho.

There aren't any hoochie-houses here. Have to go to Spokane for that.

Wait. They shut down all of the Asian massage parlors a couple'a years ago. Sorry, guys.
 
Okay, so I'm driving along minding my own and *sniff* Hmmm...socks. Maybe they're using some new fertilizer on the fields this year.

Get to my first stop, make my drop and get back in the truck. Doesn't smell like anything. Maybe the wind shifted. Get a-goin'. Ten minutes later...*sniff....sniff-sniff* Socks! Da-heck??

That's gotta be something inside my truck. Get stopped and look around.


Well.

This
1.webp
is my laundry bag


and that
2.webp
is the heater vent I inadvertently parked it in front of.

athelaughingstork.com_wp_content_uploads_2011_03_Cat_Yuck.webp

Note to the new guys:

Don't put your laundry in front of the heater vent. Know where all your heater vents are.

Unless you like the smell of need-to-be-washed socks. In which case: You're gross!
 
That doesn't happen to me. I put mine in little plastic bags & tie them shut. At that point it doesn't matter because the stink doesn't get through the plastic.

I do that so I only have to carry one bag. I can put the dirty socks in the same duffel bag as my clean clothes & they won't enstinkify the clean stuff.
 
"Suh-WEE-uff" is what I heard. "Hey! Suh-WEEEEE-uff..."

Any time I hear that, I know there's a jackass on the other end of the potential conversation.

"Yeah."


"Hey, Suh-wee-uff...Didja know yer pushin' out white smoke?"

"Yeah. DPF's firing off." (The smoke is actually grey, but I'm not going to get into a drawn-out discussion over the nuances of shades of black and white mixed together.)

"Wait, yer a girl?.."

"That's what they tell me. Gotta phone call. Check ya later."



And then he passed me going up the hill, billowing out blackish-blue smoke in a POS looking old calico Century, slowing down to ogle on his way by. Yeah. You got a nice truck.

Buh-bye.


Kalispell for a minute.
 

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