Remains of the Desert

Welcome home.

The chase is on. Wife and I have begun our epic, nine day cross country trip east, where we will be reunited with our apartment in box form, and we are already being pursued by a relentless sociopath: The Sun. We first noticed we were being followed in Nevada, as we crossed the Mojave Desert. Speaking of which, if you ever have the means, I highly recommend paying the Mojave a visit. Not only are the rocks actually real, but the bleached skulls really add a delightful landscaping accent. Just super. Anyway, the sun took one look at us, had a swig of beer, spit, had another swig, cocked it’s shotgun, burped, spit, cocked again, and said, “Get off my lawn!” I suppose we should have known better than to think we could just stroll across the sun’s home turf, the desert, wearing it’s rival gang colors (creamy white skin), without being hassled. Fortunately, we were packin’! No, we don’t have guns…well, OK, we have a few guns…I’m referring to the oil tanker filled with sunblock we’re towing behind us. Sure, towing 5,000 pounds of 45 SPF is destroying our sedan’s engine, but it’s keeping our nemesis, The Sun, at bay. Who knows? Maybe by the time we get to the Grand Canyon, we can even be friends! I know, I know: baby steps. Look honey, another skull!

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4 thoughts on “Remains of the Desert

  1. That bastard killed my basil plant. If you see him again, give him the cold, red, blistery, burning hot shoulder. Happy road trippin!!!

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