I can’t even read in the car now because my Dad drives as if the markers forming the lane we are in are bowling alley bumpers that we need to bounce off of every six seconds. (I’m texting my sister for emotional support as this is all going on.)
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Two hours of this left, folks. Buckle up your shitposting belts.
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My Dad is enthusiastically singing along to the
@CountingCrows August and Everything After CD that has been in the disc changer since 2003. He has yet to get one word correct and we’re up to Rain King already. I’m not gonna make it. Feed my succulent.Show this thread -
Highway Rumble Strips: Brief, intermittent massages.
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Me: “Can you stop at next rest station?” Dad: “Need to go to the bathroom?” Me: “Yea, sure — let’s go with that.”
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End of conversation
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