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Tales of a Post-Grad Nothing

Wednesday, January 16, 2008

First Adventure in 2008: A Photo Essay

The drive from Richmond, VA to Chicago, IL with this:

in the car takes approximately 14 hours. Most of the trip looks like this:

Although my mom is convinced that I'm going to encounter at least one drugged-up trucker, rabid animal, natural disaster, or Hell's Angel bent on feasting on nubile girl meat while on the road, I can tell you from experience that the most dangerous part of the trip is the sheer boredom. That's why God invented places like Hurricane, West Virginia. I'm not really sure how to describe the town other than to say that when I Googled the town name, this is what came up:

and that's pretty spot-on. Located approximately 5 hours and 22 minutes from Richmond (~7 hours, 58 minutes from Chicago), Hurricane, WV is this haven of everything that is good and right in this world. There are American flags flying from trucks. There are crustaches lurking behind every corner. There are gas stations that will sell you tiny statues of big-eyed children with angel wings all covered in glitter right beside a rack of trucker hats that feature cartoon boys pissing on various racing numbers. There is also Tudor's Biscuit World,:

home to approximately 40 different types of biscuit-themed sandwiches, all of which you can purchase either in person or through the convenient biscuit drive-through. It's like heaven. Beyond simply serving one's biscuity needs, Tudor's also features this on their dinner menu:

I don't know a thing about cabbage rolls and cannot attest to their deliciousness factor, but I can tell you that that picture alone is worth the 5 dollars and 69 cents. If biscuits aren't your thing,* you can always go to Gino's Pizza and Spaghetti House:

which is located in the same building and features the same semi-surly, semi-smiley cast of employees wearing different hats. After getting food, you can either head to the pawn shop/gun store located next door or you can take your personal pizza to the gas station on the other side of Tudor's and eat it from the hood of your car while simultaneously pumping gas. If the image of a young woman with one hand on the gas pump and the other shoving cheese covered dough into her mouth while watching sauce drip down her v-neck American Eagle circa 1996 sweatshirt doesn't sound sexy, you should tell that to the two high school kids who drove by and yelled "YOU ARE HOT, OWWWWWW!" at me from the passenger's side of their Dad's 1986 sedan. While Wade and Ray-Ray didn't give me a chance to say thank you, the sentiment was appreciated.

Full of pizza, biscuits, compliments/possible harassment, gasoline, and bitchin sunglasses:

(I found those treasures in a gas station next to a shelf of dream catchers), it was time to put my dog in the back, crank up the Johnny Cash, and drive with the windows down through the mountains of WV. Hurricane - Thanks for rockin me just as hard as your name implies.


* then get the hell out of town you city-lovin swine


At 11:17 AM, Blogger d said...

are you sure those boys weren't yelling at the dog?

i love road trips...you ever driven through wyoming? cuz, you know you haven't lived til you've pulled up to a gas station which is actually also the proprietor's home and asked to use the bathroom, and been directed through the kitchen to the guy's toilet...all the while cursing yourself for playing your predictable role in every horror flick you've ever seen.

At 8:14 PM, Anonymous superdeens said...

Love the bangs.


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