Dallas.

There I was, riding alone in a purple Ground Wheeler, driving towards New Jersey with a bucket of nuggets in my lap and a liter of health juice in my hand.  It was quiet, like dead quiet.  The kind of eerie silence that makes being a man seem impossible.  Anyway, some bull-shit weather was making the road all slippery with lube.

I ate some nuggets to calm my nerves, but those nerves of mine were not cool.  They were screaming dick-headed remarks and making my tummy cry.  The weather kept kicking my car and my car kept sliding along, making gravy stains on the black road.  I totally fell asleep, and my car did too.  

When we woke up some police idiots were rubbing us down with ugly constitutionals.  My car took off into the woods, and I was left alone with several large donut boxes, each one with a mustache, some of hair, and some milk.  I said things to them with an intentful whisper.  They didn't seem to care and they did seem to start mercilessly beating me with their hurt sticks.  My head took some hard hits from the main donut, so I went to block some stuff but I sucked at not fighting like an asshole.  

Let me tell you from experience, the only way to make a cop beat you even harder is to shamelessly cry.  I mean, these guys hated my tears.  I think at one point they were all trying to punch my tears themselves.  

So I'm hangin' out with these dudes for what seems like an hour and all of a sudden one of them puts his hand up in the air and says "all right guy, you've got some spunk."  I mistakenly thought he called me a hunk, and I got ready for a kiss.  He did not like this, and neither did his buddies.  They started in with many death blows, but by that time I had hit my point of no more punchies, so I took a little nap.  I woke up in Dallas a week later.  

Do you have any idea where that even is?  I sure don't.