Thursday, March 10, 2011

Perform Murder without a Hitch by Hitchhiking

Except for all the stabbings, beheadings, chainsaw murderings and forced renditions of “Bingo had a name-o” (B-I-N-G-O!), hitchhiking just might be the greatest form of transportation ever invented.

There is, however, one real big problem with hitchhiking. Everyone who hitchhikes is a chainsaw murderer, and everyone who picks up hitchhikers also loves the sound of chain upon bone. It's really not a self-sustaining industry, what with all the murdering and the canceling out of lives and the unfortunate odors.

This is really too bad, because in a perfect world, whenever you wanted to go somewhere, anywhere, you could just hop in a car, wave around a chainsaw (non-menacing fashion) and voila, instant transport. It's like highjacking but without the unfortunate perception of being a douche.

But a couple million bad apples had to go and wreck it for the 12 good, honest hitchhikers out there. A shame, really.

And those apples have caused me to never actually hitchhike. Sure, the opportunity once arose, but that's just because I had on the most darling of capris and an Amish construction worker thought I had come onto him like a common harlot pornstar. Only after I explained to him how fashion forward my ensemble made me, did he leave me alone. The ironic thing is, I really could have used that ride.

But that hardly qualifies as a hitchhiking experience—I know the Amish cannot use the chain function of a chainsaw—so I must rectify this situation.

As I left work the other day, I approached a coworker, Randy. I didn't say a word. I just stuck my thumb out. He must have thought I gave him a compliment of some sort, because he raised his thumb up as well. This caused me to raise mine up higher, which gave him a slight pause before he raised his even higher. Since this is the universal sign for “A-okay,” I hopped in his car.

Randy initially looked a bit confused, but then I motioned my hands like I had cut off his head and it had rolled along I-5 over the course of several miles before coming to a stop alongside a Wendy's where someone proceeded to force feed it Frosty's until it melted (the head, not the delicious frozen concoction). In actuality, I had just given him the universal sign for “Hey, can you give me a ride to my car, it's right over there.”

Unfortunately as we've established, Randy doesn't know the hand signals of the road, and for some reason he thought I wanted to murder him unless he took me to one of the best fast food restaurants ever. This is not what I intended.

Frosty face melting - a common hitchhiking misconception
Instead he merely asked me to get out and leave. He said I should go to my car, as it was parked 17 feet away. Noticing this, I realized Randy has fulfilled his end of the bargain—I had arrived at my destination! And as his dutiful hitchhiker, I reached over, pulled out his spleen and used it as a rudimentary form of Nunchucks. thwacking him numerous times before his it finally notched a blow on the aortic valve, which proved fatal as it forced his rib cage through the pelvis.

I then got out of Randy's car and happily walked towards mine. I had made a successful hitchhike in these days of overprotection. And, just think, I originally thought I'd be killed doing this. Who knew how wrong I could be!

With the experience successful, I immediately started up my second hitchhiking excursion as I loaded Randy's body into my trunk and drove off for another great experience. B-I-N-G-O, B-I-N-G-O, and BINGO was his name-o.

DISCLAIMER: I have never had a coworker named Randy, nor have I ever murdered A Randy. The preceding work of fiction was to showcase our unjust fear of chainsaws.

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