Arkansas is Full of Shitty Drivers

Day 3
Hours on the road: 8.5
States I Ass-kicked today: TN, AR
Current Location: Oklahoma City, OK
Produce consumed over the last three days: 1/2 an apple

"I feel so angry. It's like I've been raped. In the face!" - A quote from Hamlet 2, which I just saw in an empty theater for $5.50. The place had 15 screens and there were 17 cars in the parking lot. Is it that the movies out now suck or that Oklahoma sucks? Answer: a resounding yes.

Why so angry, you ask? Because people in Arkansas should not be allowed into vehicles. Most of the state is backwoods anyway. They can walk. Why do people sit in the left lane doing 2 miles per hour under the speed limit? And why do all the white tractor trailers gather in infuriating little lane-blocking coffee klatches so the rest of us can’t pass? Because they’re racist, that’s why. I just want to get to the next rest stop to pee out that huge Vitamin Water I chugged, but no, I have to idle behind a Triple-A KKK clusterfuck for a good fifteen minutes. Oh, and every time I’ve encountered a Nissan Maxima it’s being driven by a huge twat. Today a woman tailed me for a good ten minutes IN THE RIGHT LANE. I slowed to 40 mph before she passed me. Then I, of course, tailed the shit out of her. And right now she’s at home on her blog talking about this bitch who terrorized her on the road this morning. Just kidding. No one writes blogs anymore.

So this morning I went to Graceland at 8:45AM. Because I'm hardcore. And by hardcore I mean stupid. I had read in a travel book to get there early because it gets really crowded. See Figure 1*.

I enjoyed Graceland. Normally I would have some pithy smartass tirade about tourist traps and shit, but I have to be honest, they called him “The King” for a reason. When you buy everyone you know a horse ‘just because’ and carpet your ceilings with green shag and label your own personal jumbo jet “TCB” (for ‘taking care of business’), you earn my respect. And that’s the only way to earn my respect. So get to it, people. I want a pony.

What’s fun is when you get to the front of a line of people to go on the house tour and there’s some guy taking pictures of people in front of a big Graceland sign and he’s like “You all by yourself?” and everyone in the line turns to look. I got a lot of looks the whole morning, in fact. Probably because I was the only person under 40 there and wandering around talking to myself and taking four billion pictures of Elvis jumpsuits. I think I’ve been in the car too long.

Oh, and apparently, people from the South don’t like us Northerners, with our fancy correct English and mouths full of teeth and cars with power windows. I’ve been sweet as pie to these assholes and all I get is attitude. So today I ate lunch at a diner and faked a Southern accent (crazily exaggerated to Foghorn Leghorn extents), and the people were actually nicer to me. Ridiculous. Which gave me an idea - every time I stop to get gas from now on I’m going to use a different accent. This shouldn’t last long, as all my European accents devolve into some sort of cockney-Irish-Jamaican slang. Hey, I never promised you a rose garden. (I don't know what that means, but I'm leaving it).

* I didn't bring the stupid camera cord to upload my photos to the computer, hence the drawings. Oh, and I was wearing an Elvis belt buckle that matched my boots, too.