Tuesday, October 24, 2006

Monkey Wash, Donkey Rinse

Yesterday I was reading the blog of a guy named Tuco, where I found this picture of a boy washing his bike in Afghanistan. It’s the kind of bike picture I enjoy posting.

It also reminded me of when I was a kid and my family would often travel to the Ozarks in southern Missouri, where my parents owned land in a rural area. During summers, we would occasionally see locals drive their pickups into the Meramec River, where they would park and wash them.

This was often done by women who would splash around and get their t-shirts very wet. Tragically, none of them looked like Elly May Clampett. Hell, you needed two or three of them just to have as many teeth as Elly May.

Their white t-shirts were usually size XXL and worn over enormous black bras that looked like something stolen from the clothesline of a very large and very old woman in Moscow. And not a yard of fabric was wasted—there was a lot of flesh to cover.

My point?

I have no idea. This is just how my mind works.

Picture of a bike ... rainwater ... boy ... pickups in river ... large female hillbillies.

I don’t always read the map. Sometimes, I just take the ride.

And you get to come along.

But that's a really cool picture of a kid washing his bike.

1 comment:

Linda said...

*thumbingforaride*