So where was I? Oh yeh I lost A) enthusiasm for my cubicle job, B) half my 401 k C) most my mind truck driving D) all the equity in my house So here I am fifty something and washed up on the shore of financial ruin. I went truck driving to get off the couch and ended up really irratating and routinely coming to blows with a 6’8” Argentinian Caballero in the cab of a Big Peterbilt. (the bad kind of blows not the birthday kind). A righteous bro/friend/mutant by the name of Fat Bastard hooked me up with a mondo cush job square up the arse of a major global auto company world design headquarters. BINGO! Sorry Corporacion Mas Grande you have been infested by Vermin. The gig was made entirely palatable by large bags of money and a promise that I would never never never be surrounded by the muted mauve tones of a Steelcase series 9000 people solution (no that name is not ominous, implying that people are a problem that can be solved) brand work station/ cubicle. Being a contract whore I could pretty much come and go as I please so after a Year I started getting a little restless. I told the most excellent boss on the planet that I had to blow the carbon out and it wouldn’t hurt to take the cack on a little spin either. Motivation DAY A I had been rolling around in the bed feeling a little guilty because my kids had essentially been dicked out of the meager funds I had accrued (ok a lot guilty) by large banks who now wanted my kids to borrow from them to get an education so they could work for them (does that seem like indentured servitude to anyone else?). Knowing full well SweetThang will let me do whatever I want as long as I take a runt with me. So while she was still 2/3rds asleep I mumbled something about my scheme and she did not say no (because she may not have been conscious not unlike my semi annual conjugal visit) Anywho I woke up and axed Drifter if he wanted to go on a little ride. The kid still more or less wanted to be a writer and all I could really give him at this point is an excellent adventure. So even though he generally is disgusted with the fact I am still breathing he jumps out of bed and starts scurrying about the casa de rodentia grabbing sundry items. Stay tuned and see what happens when 12’10” of narcoleptic skeletal meat rolls on a busted up 1990 honda Pacific coast.