“OK, dude, now there’s a superhighway sign I’d like to see. ‘Specially when you’re drivin’!”
“You got somethin’ ‘gainst my drivin’, dude? Like what? We’re still here, ain’t we? It’s not like I text or nothin’.”
“Yeah, but I coulda put a saddle on a snail and got here quicker.”
“So I don’t do extreme on the freeway.”
“No? Y’think crawlin’ down the left lane wit’ a semi six inches from yer back bumper an’ blastin’ ya wit’ his air horn ain’t extreme?”
“I was doin’ the speed limit, dude!”
“Dude. The speed limit in that scene is whatever it takes to get out of the way! Like, into the right lane where slow cats like you belong.”
“No way, dude! A dude could get killed over there.”
“An’ bein’ run over by an 18-wheeler in the left lane won’t?”
“They get by, dude. They get by, maybe a few birds get shot, an’ then they get over it an’ they’re on their way. The right lane, where you and these Photoshop-happy people ya like so much want me to hang out? That’s where all the exits are. Ya got cars swoopin’ to get off the highway, an’ cars blastin’ t’get on the highway, an’ y’got cars broke down on the sidea the highway, an’ then if’n y’get past all that noise an’ think y’can breathe f’r a second, ya suddenly find out that ya don’t got that lane no more, an’ y’got about three seconds to poke yer way into the solid wall of cars – in the left lane, dude! – that’s actually goin’ where ya wanna go! I ain’t doin’ this, dude! Y’want extreme, well, I’ll do the halfpipe on my kid sister’s tricycle afore I’ll mess with that scheiss. If I’m goin’ anywhere, I’m getting inta the left lanes where I might get a chance to get where I’m goin’ an’ chill while I’m doin’ it. An’ anyone who don’t like it can kiss my …”
“But dude!”
“But what?”
“That ain’t how it’s supposed ta work!”
“Since when do you know somethin’ ’bout work? Look, dude. Ya don’t take a buncha slow an’ nervous drivers an’ make ’em be the ones who haveta do all the tough drivin’. That’s just dumb. Maybe it was alright when they designed these roads, when there were only about half o’ us ta be on ’em. Now? Tryin’ ta get me ta stay in the right lane is like tryin’ ta get the north poles o’ two magnets ta stay tagether wit’out holdin’ ’em. Not gonna happen.”
“Sheesh. Maybe I’ll start walkin’ places. Might get there alive.”
“Dude?”
“What?”
“Ya shoulda thoughta that afore ya plonked us out here, ninety miles from the outskirts a’ noplace.”
“We could afford the rent here, dude!”
“Dammit, dude …!”
Oh crap. All of a sudden the dudes and I have something in common besides an intellectual amoeba.
Guilty.